When In Doubt
by Retired 5.01.2012
Summary: We all know there's nothing quite like Autobot drama, especially if you're a femme dressed up like a mech. Thanks to: Okami-chan, P.A.W.07, and Litahatchee. UPDATE: It's over, but it's just the beginning.
1. In Which There is Darkness

This is the _edited_ and _revised_ and _all-around-awesome_ Autobot version of one of my favorite Disney movies…with smut. :D

Okami-chan has very graciously allowed me to borrow the idea of dancers from her story, "Rhythm and Hues". P.A.W.07 has also allowed me to borrow her idea of femmes and mechs. You should go and read both stories. Now. JK, but anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this fic, because if I did, I wouldn't be at this keyboard typing a story. I would be fan-girling over my extensive transformers collection. :D

NOTE: I have edited this chapter and separated it out. Bear with me, please. I'll be going more in depth and stuff.

Enjoy:)

**EDITED: likes to eat hyphens. So I need new dividers. :( Plus, I added more stuff! :D**

**00000**

_On Cybertron, eight million years ago…_

The sound of bells and lightly pattering feet filled the room, only occasionally interrupted by the murmuring of approving mechs. The femme had rings around her ankles and wrists, which were used to accentuate the simple, fluid dance she was performing. Her shimmering sky blue paint was contrasted brightly by the scarlet ribbons that decorated her lithe form. She smiled shyly at one of the mechs in the crowd, flicking a ribbon in his direction. The sash tied around her waist further accentuated her tiny waist.

A strong drum beat pulsed out of nearby speakers, creating an odd melody in the otherwise still air. Finally, with a twist that sent the ribbons on her wrists into a flurry, she gracefully sank down, bowing to her audience. The silence was shattered by a storm of applause and whistles of approval. The female took it as her cue to leave the stage and get ready for her next dance.

However, she never got the chance to change when the building rocked with an explosion. Screaming klaxons pierced the air while the audience tried to escape the building in a desperate attempt at saving themselves. There was a hole in the wall, but instead of mechs pouring out, they were pouring _in._ The mechs bore the symbol of the decepticon faction, also known as the enemy. They were here to slaughter the femmes.

Megatron's apparent descent into the realm of insanity sparked outrage and protest from the men in his army. Females and sparklings or younglings had no place in the war. Megatron simply pressed his policies and eventually, albeit highly against it, his men followed his orders. Even though most of the decepticons were rightly dubbed as evil beings, a small group of decepticons turned traitor (thus, they were marked as heroes when the truth was revealed) and were held responsible for the mass ejection of escape pods into outer space, each one loaded with females and younglings, sending them to safety well out of the cold grip of war.

They were never heard from again. Neither were the mechs that were responsible for saving their lives.

Far too late, the autobots understood what Megatron was doing.

If he didn't win, then the mass genocide would ensure that the race would die out. If the AllSpark was destroyed, the autobots would still lose their war. It was a losing war for the autobots and their entire race. Even though the few heroic decepticons had tried to save the women and children, it was still in vain. By the time the autobots had launched from Cybertron on the ARK, there wasn't a trace of the escape pods.

00000

Now they were all on the planet called Earth, in the Sol system. Autobots had slowly begun to trickle into the system, setting up a base of operations in the United States. To be more specific, they were currently residing in Nevada, in an old weapons testing range. Ironhide was happy to go and blow a few things up to make the story more credible to the wary public. Ever since the "terrorist attack" in Mission City, no one was too keen on believing the government. It was seen as quite odd that there were no clear videos of what had happened, even though there were plenty of t.v. cameras and civilian cameras around.

Currently, there were 32 mechs on the base. One of which, was having a terrible day. His name was Nightshade. He stressed the 'he' part. Nightshade, in reality, wasn't a _he._ Nightshade was one of the last younglings to board an escape pod. Her protoform had been altered and reshaped to look like the body of an unarmored mech. _He_ had been launched into outer space but shot down mistakenly by the autobots. Upon seeing _his_ small, lithe form, he was immediately recruited as a spy and recon mech. He quickly worked his way up the ranks, eventually partnering up with a small yellow mech named Bumblebee. He too, had been one of the last younglings created.

And it was believed that he would be the last youngling.

Nightshade thought back on the day that she had landed on this mud ball…

00000

_Flashback_

_It was cold in outer space. The protective shell of her outer armor kept most of the cold at bay, but eventually, she felt it settle into her joints. Now that she was getting closer to this planet, she understood why Optimus was so determined to keep this planet intact._

_It was beautiful._

_The outer atmosphere of this planet was composed of several gasses she did not recognize, and as she entered the planet's gravitational force, she felt her outer shell heat up considerably. Bits of heat licked at her heat shielding. Eventually, it grew so hot it was almost unbearable. After several agonizing seconds, Nightshade spun and saw the ground. She tried to slow down by using a magnetic pulse. It worked a little, and she hit the ground hard. Bouncing twice, she slid across a field and into a grove of trees._

_Darkness consumed her._

_It could have been minutes, hours, days later when she her computing center rebooted. She didn't know._

_**Main power: functioning at 83 percent.**_

_**Main relays: functioning at 45 percent.**_

_**Energy reserves: at 32 percent. Approaching critical levels.**_

_She tried to send out a signal to Elita. Her open com was static filled._

_**Main computing center: functioning at 100 percent.**_

_**Main optic relays: 68 percent. Night vision and thermal vision off-line. Self-repairs to begin in thirty seconds.**_

_No wonder she couldn't see much. This half of the hemisphere wasn't facing the small star the planet orbited._

_**Translator: off-line. **_

_**Communications: off-line. Attempt to repair to commence in thirty seconds.**_

_**Vocal processor: off-line. Attempt to repair to commence in thirty seconds.**_

_**Optics could not be repaired. Medic required. Translator could not be repaired. Medic required. Damaged subroutines could not be repaired. Medic required.**_

_**Communications have been repaired. **_

_**WARNING: Switching to reserves! 2 cycles of energy remain!**_

_Nightshade groaned softly and tried transmitting a message to Elita once more. Finally, she received a weak, static filled reply._

"_Night…where…you? We…ten light years away…ETA: unknown. Several months, at least…Stay…you are…contact…current Prime…and stay with…until I arrive…Chromia and Moonracer say hello…Wheel Jack sends his greetings…tell Ratchet he says hello…Transmission fading! See you soon!!"_

_The video link faded. Now, she and Elita were friends. Elita, however, did not know that Nightshade was a femme. The only one that knew she was a femme was an arrogant but trustworthy mech named Mirage. Last she knew, he was headed this way and would arrive in a few months._

_Nightshade unfurled from her escape pod, stretching her servos. She had been cooped up for far too long, and protesting joints groaned softly. A sudden flash of light had her throwing her body to the side and rolling. Instantly, her weapon was out._

"_State your designation and faction," she growled, looking around desperately. Without her night vision, she was as good as dead. Her modified vocal processors ground softly, reminding her that they wouldn't last much longer. The wire would short and her gender would become known to everyone around her._

"_My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the autobots," a deep voice said from somewhere on her left. She looked around, trying to see the speaker, but it was futile._

"_My name is Nightshade. I am one of Elita One's men," she said, trying to get used to referring to herself as a male._

"_Elita One? Is she alive," the voice was suddenly hopeful._

"_Yes, she is fine. I recently spoke with her. Her estimated time of arrival is in a few months, sir," Nightshade said softly, trying to not strain her processors. If that wire shorted out…_

"_Good. We should head back to the autobot base. We will find you an alternate mode on the way, Nightshade."_

And thus began her time with the autobots.

00000

Upon her arrival, she was ushered to the medical bay quickly. Red Alert, the guard, hurried her through the hallways, dictating rules and regulations. She trotted along after him, shooting worried glances around the base. The floor beneath her feet were dirty and scuffed, and her nasal plate crinkled up slightly. Once the femmes arrived, things would be very different.

"No alt. modes in the hallways, no wrestling or boisterous activity, and absolutely no high grade of any kind on your shift-" here, he pulled her out of a giant mech's way. She craned her neck to gaze up at the massive mech, shyly scurrying along behind Red Alert. He took no notice and continued prattling off rules.

"That was Sky Lynx. He's a great fighter, but a few wires short of a computing center, if you know what I mean. Now, like I was saying. There's only one rule in the medical bay," he said, growing serious. Nightshade gave him a questioning look.

"Ratchet's word is law. If he says to jump, you'd better ask him how high. Don't anger him. Please don't," Red Alert said, clapping on hand on her shoulder. Nightshade nodded and murmured a quiet thank you. Red Alert nodded and said, "I'd best be leaving. I will see you on shift soon."

They had stopped outside of two very large stainless steel doors. Nightshade gulped and looked at the door.

"Goin' ta see the Hatchet?" A deep, gruff voice came from behind her. Nightshade nodded shyly. A large black mech stood behind her, twin cannons peeking from behind the armor on his arms. Ah, a soldier. She had seen holovids of this mech fighting off trines of seekers before and made a note to stay far away from him.

"I'm new here," Nightshade said, giving the doors another quick peek. If this 'Ratchet' was anything like the stories used to describe him…then she was in for a rough ride.

"Ah, don't let the terror stories 'bout the Hatchet scare ya. He's a giant teddy bear," Ironhide said, clapping Nightshade on the shoulder. Nightshade almost went flying and Ironhide shot her an apologetic look. Nightshade picked herself up off the wall and sent him a mild glare.

"Who's a giant teddy bear, Ironhide?" A second mech had approached them. This one was the same height as Ironhide, but not as bulky. He was red and white, and a harsh frown graced his face plates.

"What do you mean, Ratch," said the black one, grinning at his friend. The second mech walked abreast of them and crossed his arms over his chest plate. The frown on his face grew harsher.

"I'll show you teddy bear when you need an exhaust flush," growled 'Ratch'.

Nightshade watched the banter from afar. If these two were like any of the mechs she knew, they'd start punching each other 'playfully'. Why anyone would punch each other for fun was beyond her, but…it seemed it was a mech thing. The red one confirmed her suspicions. A well aimed smack to the back of the cranial unit had Ironhide cringing.

"Slaggin' pit, Ratchet! You're 'sposed ta fix me, not offline me!"

"Oops, my bad," the medic growled sarcastically. He finally took notice of the shorter mech, and extended one hand toward him.

"Hello, I'm Ratchet, CMO."



"Nightshade," she said quietly, grasping the medics hand and shaking once. He nodded and extricated his hand.

"What are you two here for?"

"I'm here for my check up," Ironhide said, glaring at the medic, who, in turn, grinned at him. It seemed there was an inside joke between them. They both looked at Nightshade, who fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I'm new…I don't know what I'm here for, really."

"Ah. Virus check. Well, come along. It'll take a few hours, both of you."

Nightshade obeyed quietly, following the medic into the medical bay, through a pair of double doors, and down a long hallway. There were six doors, three on each side of the hallway. He opened one and shoved Ironhide in, and opened another for Nightshade. Nightshade scampered into the room, lest she be shoved into the room. She heard a chuckle from behind her, and she turned to glare, but the door was already shut by the time she had whirled around. Nightshade looked around the room: standard check-up room stuff. A berth, two giant chairs, a counter, and cabinets. Harsh fluorescent lighting flickered and buzzed in the otherwise still air. She perched on the edge of the berth and waited for Ratchet. She heard a pained yelp come from the other side of the room.

With wide optics, Nightshade listened carefully.

"_Slaggin' pit!..."_

"_Maybe if you'd stay still, you bucket of bolts!..."_

"_Stop shoving me then!"_

_**clang!**_

"_Owowowow, that hurt, you bit brained, pit spawned, short circuited-"_

_**CLANG!!**_

Another pained yelp had Nightshade cringing and praying to every deity she could name.

00000

Two hours (and a few nasty curses), she heard the door to Ironhide's room open and slam shut.

"Now out, slagger, and don't come back," was Ratchet's fond good bye.

"Alright…teddy bear."

She vaguely heard something hit something else (she assumed a tool to Ironhide's head) and a final yelp of pain, followed by a few more colorful curses.

"Frag me?! I'll reformat you into a toaster!"

The door to her room was violently opened. Nightshade gulped and cowered as Ratchet advanced. Her pump was sent into a fluttering frenzy when he sat on the bench beside the berth.

"Alright, let's see what we've got. Roll onto your abdomen."

Nightshade obeyed, cringing softly as Ratchet peeled back the armor to her spinal relays. At least his hands weren't cold, she mused. She watched from the corner of her optic as he pottered around her room, flicking switches and plugging cables into various ports. A low hum from the counter announced that the virus scanner was up and running.

"Alright, take your firewalls down and relax. This will only sting for a bit," he said, pushing some cables aside while dragging a cart closer. He picked up a wire, peered at it in the light, and stuck one end into a spinal port. A flicker of pain jolted across her body.

**Attempt by an unknown source to tap into virus quarantine. Continuing is strongly unadvised. Continue anyway?**

"Alright, select yes and continue…" Nightshade obeyed.

**Unknown source has been identified. Continue?**

"Continue…" Nightshade obeyed once more, sighing gently.

**Scanning in progress:….2 percent uploaded…**

"I will be back in a few minutes to set up a file under your name." With that, he stood up and left, leaving Nightshade in the room. The virus check bar crept up slowly…

00000

Fifteen minutes later, Ratchet slid the door open to the room, holding a data pad in one hand and a few scanners in the other.

"I'm back. How are you do…Primus, he's asleep." Ratchet walked over to the mech and prodded him in the back of the head. Nightshade jerked in 'his' sleep and mumbled something quietly, trying to curl up into a ball. Ratchet growled and slammed the welders into the berth. It had the desired effect. Nightshade yelped and had 'his' rifle out and ready to go in less than a second.

"Put that away," Ratchet growled. Nightshade subspaced her weapon and let her head hit the table with a loud thump.

"Now, what is your name, date of online, and place of online?"

"Nightshade, online on the fifth turn of Algol, on the third adjunct of Cybertron."

"Name of creators?"

"Crosswise and Day Lily," she answered automatically.

"I was not aware that Crosswise had a son," Ratchet said, his optics narrowed slightly.

"My creators…weren't too pleased that I came online. My sister was the intelligent one...my creators said that I should become a soldier for that reason…"

"Ah. I see. What happened to your sister?"

"Don't know. She was gone by the time I was old enough to know her." Nightshade was secretly hyperventilating inside. How could she let something so important slip?! There were so few pairs at 

the beginning at the war…and there had only been three femmes born from those few! She had almost given herself away!

Ratchet prodded a gear and said, "I'm scheduling you for a full maintenance in a few cycles." He snapped her back armor shut and patted her on the back.

"You're good to go. There's nothing wrong with your systems. You'll be a bit dizzy for the next ten to twenty breems, so take it easy. I'll see you again in a few cycles," he said, motioning her to the door.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and hurried away.

Ratchet watched him for a few seconds, and then spoke into his com.

"Ratchet to Optimus."

"Optimus here."

"I've given the new recruit a virus check…"

"And…?"

"He told me the most interesting thing."

"What?"

"Apparently, according to him, Cross Wise and Day Lily had a son and a daughter."

"Really."

"Yes, according to him."

"Keep an optic on him."

"Yes, sir."

The com system fizzled for a few seconds before Ratchet snapped it off. He was frowning slightly, biting his lower lip. He had _personally_ known Cross Wise…wouldn't have the mech mentioned something like that to him?

00000

Why did they do this to me? WHY?

:P

Well…enjoy the extra tidbits, I guess. :D


	2. In Which There is Sunstreaker

Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Chapter two – edited! 

Enjoy!

BTW, I'll be referring to Nightshade as a he until her true gender is revealed. :)

**EDIT: Yay for dividers!**

00000

A few cycles went by with nothing eventful happening. She had managed to contacted Elita and Mirage once. That was the most riveting thing that happened. No decepticon attacks…no terrorized humans…not even the slightest blip on the radar. Nothing. It was quiet. Too quiet. Red Alert's sentinel programming was about to go on the fritz. So was Nightshade, but for a different reason. She had managed to avoid Ratchet's maintenance check twice, but she was starting to suspect that Ratchet suspected something. The mech always shot her strange, suspicious looks while she was in the room.

Three months later, she received a static filled transmission from Elita.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Nightshade? We'll be arriving in about twelve weeks. You're the only one we've been able to contact, Nightshade. Hope to see you soon!"

"That's good to hear, Elita. I'll see you soon," Nightshade said, grinning at the monitor. Elita waved and the screen winked off. She grinned happily, spinning around on the seat. Nightshade set an alarm on her personal calender, making a note to tell Optimus.

Nightshade smiled as she flopped onto her recharge berth. Maybe when Elita and the other femmes arrived, she would reveal her true gender to the mechs…but it didn't seem to be likely in the near future. She had heard the way mechs talked about the femme half of their species before. She shuddered to think of what they'd do if they found out _she_ was a femme.

00000

Optimus sat in his office, scanning the file on Nightshade. He frowned slightly. This mech was the same age as Bumblebee, but had never really seen a true battle. Maybe fighting wasn't his forte. Perhaps, he would be better somewhere else... He began wracking his memory banks. All of the necessary positions had been filled…and the mech was just drifting from menial task to menial task. Where could he put Nightshade and provide a solid job and decent training?

"Optimus to Red Alert," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir? I'm sending you on an away mission in a few weeks. Do you have a replacement in the med bay?"

"No sir, I do not."

"What about the new recruit…Nightshade?"

"I believe he will be able to help with basic repairs, sir."

"Good. Contact him first thing tomorrow morning and notify him of the change in plans. I don't want a rookie fighting Starscream or Barricade."

"Yes, sir. First thing in the morning."

"Optimus out."

Optimus triumphantly signed the transfer papers. Nightshade now had a stable job.

00000

Nightshade groaned as his com link squealed loudly, startling him awake. Nightshade peered up at the ceiling, wondering what he had done to deserve being awoken at that early of an hour. Finally, the mech on the other end of the line decided to speak. Nightshade huffed angrily.

"Red Alert to Nightshade."

"Nightshade here," he said grumpily.

"Good morning. I am going on an away mission for the next few weeks and Optimus wants you in the medical bay."

"Yes, sir. When do I need to be there, sir?"

"I will be at your quarters in fifteen minutes to escort you. I will also explain policies and procedures."

"Thank you, sir," he said, a mild glare on his face.

"Red Alert out."

Nightshade snarled and got out of bed, grabbing a cube of energon and guzzling it down in one go. True to his word, Red Alert arrived at Nightshade's quarters exactly fifteen minutes later. A soft knock on her door startled him. He wrenched the door open, a scowl on his face.

"Good morning, Nightshade," Red Alert said, bowing his head to hide his smile. Nightshade nodded, barely able to contain the sleepy rev his engine wanted to let out desperately.

Nightshade shut the door and silently followed Red Alert down the hallway. He immediately tuned the taller mech out, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

"-and, don't ever, under any circumstance touch any of Ratchet's high grade. He's got a stash of it somewhere in the medical bay. There's the medical kind, but that's clearly marked. Ratchet has it in an unlabeled barrel."

"Understood, sir."

"Oh, and by the way, he's in one of his moods," Red Alert said, standing off to one side, leaving Nightshade standing in front of the doors by himself. Nightshade gulped and steeled himself.

He pushed the large green button by the door and took in a deep breath, ready to take on what lay on the other side of the door. Ratchet was standing in the medical bay, holding a laser in one hand, a harsh look on his features. Sunstreaker lay on an operating table, grinning like a Cheshire cat up at Ratchet.

"Ratchet, old boy, I didn't mean to-"

"Like slaggin' Pit you didn't, Sunstreaker! Get your aft off of that table before I move it for you!"

"It's only a few scratches-"

"You were in here less than two hours ago!"

"Aw, come on, Ratchet-"

"Get the slag out of my medical bay before I weld your aft-"

"Please fix me, Ratchet?"

"Primus help you if you're not out of here in three…"

"Ratchet, I really need-"

"TWO."

"Rat-chet…"

"ONE!"

A loud clang echoed around the room and Sunstreaker jumped from the table, yelping and cradling the back of his head. His head sported a large dent in it, almost as big as Nightshade's little fist. Ratchet was growling and taking in large quantities of air into his filters at an alarming rate. Nightshade winced as he realized how quickly Ratchet's internal temperatures were rising. Sunstreaker yelled a particularly nasty insult in Cybertronian and took off running, darting between Red Alert and Nightshade. Ratchet threw the tool in his hand down on the counter, grumbling quietly.

Nightshade gulped quietly and glanced at Red Alert with wide optics. Red Alert chuckled and patted the younger 'bot on the shoulder reassuringly. Ratchet then noticed the two of them and he did his best to not look murderous.

"Hello Red Alert, Nightshade," he said, bowing his head slightly. Nightshade murmured a shy hello. Red Alert squeezed Ratchet's hand, pounding him on the back. A blow like that would have sent Nightshade halfway across the room, and he made sure to stay well out of range of the mechs. Fidgeting slightly, he stood awkwardly in a corner, trying to become invisible. _Primus, I'd give my rifle to have a cloaking device like 'Raj…_, he thought quietly. After a few seconds, their hearty chuckles quieted down and Ratchet finally noticed Nightshade standing in the corner.

"Ah, yes, Ratchet. I brought Nightshade to help you while I am away. Perhaps you'll train him in basic repairs?" 

Ratchet gave Red Alert an unreadable look. Nightshade cringed and wrapped his arms more tightly around his small frame. A slight frown crossed Red Alert's face plates and Ratchet looked a bit annoyed. Ah, they were using their personal interlinks…

"I promise I'll stay out of your way," he said as quietly as possible, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's fine. I'd be happy to teach you basic repairs. Now, come along Nightshade. We're getting started today," Ratchet said, tearing his semi-glare away from Red Alert..

00000

Ratchet wasn't kidding when he said they were getting started that day. He immediately picked up a laser and began explaining how to use it, when to use it, and when _not_ to use it.

"This is a solid state laser. It's made from an earth component called yttrium. It is used to cut through armor and thick wires. Use this on main supports and struts."

Nightshade nodded to show that he was listening and Ratchet prattled on. Ratchet enjoyed teaching anything to anyone but no one ever cared to hear his lectures. However, having captivated Nightshade, he launched full speed into the inner workings of the Cybertronian body.

"…then this is the main hydraulic piston used to help refine the motor movements of the hands. This cable right here sends power to the digits. This green wire is used to transform the hand into different tools, like a gun or laser, much like mine," Ratchet said, pausing. Nightshade peered closer, nodding and storing that bit of information away.

"As you know, this is the fuel pump. It is what drives us, much like the warp core in our ships. These are our fuel tanks," he said, giving his patient's a good jab, making the mech-turned-guinea-pig squeak in pain. "It refines Earth fuels for our systems. However, in refining this fuel, we are inefficient. We are currently working alongside humans to use hydrogen fusions to fuel ourselves and their electrical needs…"

00000

At the end of the eighteen hour shift, Nightshade staggered into the rec room.

"High grade, please," he murmured, his forehead making a loud thump as it hit the bar. He heard a hearty chuckle from behind him, and a weight sitting in the chair next to him made the floor quiver slightly.

"First day in the med bay," a soft, deep voice asked. Nightshade blearily turned on optic on and nodded.

"What do you think –oh, hello, Optimus. Sir. Sorry about that…," he said, rubbing the back of his head ruefully.

"It's alright. Ratchet was like that in his first medical shift," Optimus said, a small smile on his face plates.

Nightshade slugged back the cube of high grade, not even wincing as the liquid burned his fuel intake lines. Optimus chuckled softly, murmuring something along the lines of, "You drink just like him, too." Nightshade put the cube back on the table. Now that he was energized, he was a bit more amiable.

"So, sir. What did you need?"

"I wanted to ask you a few questions about your family. You know, to get to know you better." There was a kind smile on Optimus's face plates.

"I suppose it's strange that Crosswise never told anyone about me…but I guess it's okay. I never really did anything to make him proud. And you know how high of standards he has. My sister graduated first in her class and received a full scholarship to the university. My father saw that as mediocre. If I barely scraped by in class…I barely passed the exams to become a soldier…" Nightshade said sadly, tracing the rim of the cube with his finger. Back on Cybertron, she was a grade-A actress..she could leak cleaning fluid from her optics on command, she could blush like a school aged femme, and she could pout better than anyone in her class. So naturally, "acting" her way through this wasn't too hard. Keeping her story consistent was.

"I see. How is Day Lily?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her in so long…I pray that she and my sister were on an escape pod…the hope of them still being alive is the only thing that keeps my spark going…after my father disappeared in battle…" Nightshade gave a quiet sigh.

Optimus nodded and put a hand on Nightshade's shoulder.

"I am terribly sorry to hear of your loss. I pray that your family return to you."

"Thank you, sir," Nightshade said, taking another shot of high grade. Optimus smiled.

"Now, off to recharge with you. Ratchet wants you in the med bay tommorow morning."

"Sure thing, sir."

"Call me Optimus, Nightshade."

"O-okay…Optimus." The name sounded funny on his vocalizers.

00000

So the hours that Nightshade spent in the medical bay turned into days. Days became weeks. During that time, Nightshade built a solid relationship with Ratchet, much like an apprentice to a master. Nightshade picked up on the intricate clockwork that kept their mechanical bodies quickly and efficiently, only asking questions when there was something that he didn't understand. Ratchet was proud of his prized student, who hadn't once made a mistake in the hands on training. Red Alert had come back from his mission and was pleasantly surprised to find Nightshade still within the medical bay (what surprised him the most was the fact that Nightshade _willingly_ volunteered his time!), performing basic repairs on Sunstreaker. It seemed that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had become regular patients of his during the time Red Alert had been gone on his mission.

Ratchet had even gone so far to allow Nightshade to perform basic maintenance on his own, but under Ratchet's watchful optic. Ratchet randombly quizzed him while he was working, just to see if he would crack under pressure.

"Once you disconnect the fuel pump from the main fuel line, what is the next step in fuel line de-clogging procudure?"

"You connect the main lines to an exterior source and pump in a fuel-solvent suspension, thus keeping the mech alive and clearing out the pumps. However, it is quite painful so the mech must be kept in stasis while this procedure is happening. It is also reccomended to sedate the mech while he is coming back online, to keep his systems calm," Nightshade answered, not even looking up from the large scratch on Sunstreaker's side. Ratchet smiled proudly. Sunstreaker gave him a thumb's up, grinning at him.

"Exemplary answer, Nightshade. Why don't you finish up on Sunstreaker? I'll let you do a routine maintenance check on him," Ratchet said, leaning back on the counter and smiling at Nightshade. Nightshade grinned goofily and finished reapplying the yellow paint to Sunstreaker's side. Nightshade then stood back, waiting for Ratchet to move into place. However, he didn't move.

"I believe the human saying for this is, 'you're running the show now'," Ratchet said, raising one metallic eyebrow. Nightshade grinned at Ratchet and looked down at his patient. Sunstreaker had a mildly panicky look on his face, terrified of the newbie medic.

"Sunstreaker, if you would please sit up," Nightshade said, motioning for the mech to roll back up. He did so. Nightshade began running diagnostic scans on the mech, checking oil pressure and pump efficiency. After a few seconds, Nightshade had Sunstreaker lay back down. After sliding back Sunstreaker's chassis, Nightshade began recording temperatures and spark frequency, keeping careful tabs on the condition of Sunstreaker's spark chamber. It was large and square and the pulsing blue light within was so bright it was almost white.

"Sunstreaker, you are in near perfect condition. However, you have two nearly blown fuses in your lower left leg and a worn cog in near the anterior portion of your fuel tanks. While not crucial to your performance and health, I strongly recommend that you have these replaced within the next two weeks," Nightshade said quietly, sliding Sunstreaker's chassis back into place. Sunstreaker sat up and grinned at Nightshade.

"I think I prefer Nightshade to do my routine maintenance, Ratchet. He's got much gentler hands than you," he said cheekily, winking at Nightshade, who grinned back and gave a short bow. Sunstreaker laughed and clapped him on the back, saying something along the lines of being someone's favorite patient.

Ratchet growled and pointed at the door, telling Sunstreaker to get his aft in motion, lest it be unsavorably removed by Ratchet himself.

00000

I'm sleepy. :)


	3. In Which There is Revelation

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.

**EDIT: I added lots of stuff to this chapter. I think y'all will enjoy it. ;)**

00000

Ratchet sighed and looked down at the reports and charts on his desk gloomily. He was in a particularly angsty mood this day. (When wasn't he in an irritated mood? Only when he proved his remarkable marksmanship using various tools and the back of one of the twin's heads.) Except he wasn't feeling ill…and he hadn't seen either of the twins in at least three days. So. What had brought on his rotten mood? The datapad on his desk was shoved aside to make way for Ratchet's head. His head made a loud thunk as it hit the polished surface. His optics shuttered and he sighed wearily.

_What is wrong with me?_

Ratchet mused in the silence. The darkness was nice. Maybe a nice, long, _untinterrupted _recharge would be nice…Just as he was dropping off into recharge, the med bay doors slid open. Okay, maybe a recharge wasn't going to happen…Hey, he could dream, right? He looked up, a frown fixed on his face plates. Nightshade had entered the medical bay quietly, never noticing Ratchet sitting in his office. Nightshade started getting equipment ready for the day, laying out commonly used tools and inspecting them. The mech quizzically stared at a particular piece of equipment before setting on the counter. His upper body disappeared into a box on the floor. Ratchet watched his antics with a soft smile on his face.

_Hm, Nightshade is early today. Maybe we should move onto more difficult procedures. I wonder if he's ready for it? Whoo, look at the aft on that one…Holy Primus, what did I just say?!_

Ratchet's intake filters momentarily stopped as he processed what he just computed in his computing center.

_Did I just compute that thought? No, nonononono. __**NO. **__I'm a mech. I like femmes. Why do I want to grab his aft then?! I need to recharge more often. And longer. It's screwing with my logic center!_

Ratchet shook his head. Screw? He had been spending too much time with Samuel J. Witwicky and Mikaela Banes lately. The camping trip (that he had been dragged along on by Ironhide) last week was a testament to him spending too much time with the humans. Screw? He was probably going to be using silly collaquisms (like Jazz) next. He shook his head and his optics alighted onto Nightshade's frame once more…and his jaw dropped. The mech was stretching _something_ in his back, arching his chest outward. The sunlight glinted brightly off of the polished surfaces of Nightshade's chassis.

_Er…what was I going to teach him today? Why can't I remember anything? Oooh, look at that chassis-ARGH._

Ratchet's circuits almost fried as he tried to delete those files from memory.

_Or maybe you're just crazy for not liking him. Give him a shot._

_No. I am not having this conversation with myself. My motherboard is short circuiting._

_It isn't. Nightshade is an intelligent mech and beautiful, too._

_I'm arguing with my own computing center. Completely illogical._

_Agreed._

Ratchet frowned (ah, the customary frown on his face. Things were getting back to normal…) and slumped in his seat. Nightshade finally noticed him and waved at him enthusiastically, ready to start the day. Ratchet gave a weak wave back and shuffled the digi-pads on his desk into a state of ordered pandemonium and made his way into the medical bay. Nightshade brightened upon seeing his mentor.

"Hello, Ratchet. How are you today," Nightshade inquired politely. Secretly, he (well, she) was jumping on the inside, eager to bring a smile to his face. Nightshade almost blushed when he processed the thoughts but pushed them (and the fluttering in her chest) aside.

"My processing center has a center of its own. It's driving me crazy," Ratchet grumped, rubbing the sides of his head. Nightshade cocked his head and pondered a way to make Ratchet feel better.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

_Yes, you can let me take you on that stasis bed-_ Nightshade looked up at the strange choking _gark!_ noise his mentor had made. Ratchet was standing stiffly, his hands clenched by his sides tightly. One optic ridge on Nightshade's face rose slowly. Finally, after a breem or two, the mech relaxed.

"No, not really, Nightshade. Let's see what you've gotten done…"

"I've readied your basic lasers for today and laid out several meters of wiring. I've also reorganized your cog bins and bolt bins. I've also taken the liberty of tuning your-"

_Tune my engine,_ he almost purred out loud.

"-spark meter to make sure it is calibrated properly to working condition. It hasn't been used in an extended period of time and I wanted to reassure myself of its condition. Is this sufficient?"

"Perfect," Ratchet croaked out. He was barely getting enough air into his intake systems. He felt like he was suffocating under all the heat. He needed out!

"Sir?"

"Just…keep an eye on the 'bay so that I can grab a cup of energon," Ratchet said quickly, ignoring the startled look on Nightshade's face. Ratchet started edging toward the door, lest he be tempted to do something inappropriate. Currently, the temptations were only to kiss the mech and perhaps let his hands stray a bit.

"But…sir…I'm not qualified-"

"You'll be fine for a few minutes. I'll be back in ten minutes," Ratchet said, trying to rid himself of the unwanted images his computing center had pulled up for him. Ratchet then walked out of the room quickly, almost at a run.

"O-okay sir," Nightshade said quietly and gulped.

00000

Nightshade was on edge. It had been six and a half minutes since Ratchet had left to get his drink. Only three and a half minutes left to go until Ratchet came back. Over the past few weeks, Nightshade had noticed a few things. Firstly, the mechs on the base were giving him some pretty strange looks. Was something wrong? Nightshade used one of the stainless steel cabinets as a mirror. Nope, nothing feminine showing…except his aft. It was too round. He absently rubbed his backside, wondering what 

he could to to make it more…mech-like. Nightshade grabbed a piece of spare armor, pressing it up against his backside. Then he wondered what excuse he could give Ratchet.

'_scuse, me, Ratch,' but I think my aft looks a bit too feminine, will ya fix it for me?_

He snorted at the thought and shook his head, putting the armor down.

Nightshade looked back at the clock on the wall. Two minutes to go. Nightshade sighed impatiently, shuffling his feet on the stark white linoleum that made up the medical bay floor. Suddenly, the doors hissed open and in limped Ironhide, swearing as loudly as his vocal processor would allow.

"Oi, Ratchet, where the slag are ya?"

"He isn't here right now, sir. He'll be back in a few minutes," Nightshade said, shifting nervously.

"Aw, slaggit. Take a look at my left knee joint. I think I got something caught in it while racing this morning," Ironhide said, making himself comfortable on the nearest stasis bed. Nightshade stared at him blankly for a second and then made his decision. Taking a quick peek couldn't hurt, right?

Nightshade gently pried back the armor on Ironhide's knee to get a look at the inner circuitry. There, mixed in with the cables and wires and lines, was a large splinter of wood, neatly lodged in a receptor. Nightshade winced as he took a closer look. The wood was lodged in there deeply, jamming a few gears as well. Ouch.

"Ironhide, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Ratchet arrives. I'm simply not qualified to do much more than look," Nightshade said quietly and shyly. There was a loud sigh of heated air from Ironhide's exhausts.

"That's fine. Just…distract me from the pain," Ironhide said, folding his arms beneath his head. Nightshade just stared at him for a second before speaking.

"Er…how are you?"

Nightshade received a glare and he winced slightly, muttering a soft apology.

"So, uhm…What have you been doing lately?" _There. Small talk ought to get him going. Besides, he's easily distracted…unless it's a con, or something…_

"I've been recalibrating the cannons on my arms to shoot bigger rounds," Ironhide grunted, picking at a stray wire in his arm.

"Bigger rounds? At this rate, you'll be shooting _minibots_ from your cannons by the end of the week," Nightshade said snarkily. Then he dodged the large black hand that swiped through the air where his head had been.

"Haha, very funny. I think you've been hanging out with Ratchet too much. His sarcasm's rubbing off on ya," Ironhide said, grunting once more.

"Er…sorry…Tell me more about your day so far?"

"Training rookies are Pit to train. Little slaggin' sparklings can't tell the difference between a heated plasma round and a plasma flare," Ironhide said, growling a little at the end of his sentence.

"Oh." Nightshade didn't know the difference, either, but he kept it to himself. It seemed like a wise choice at the moment - Ironhide wasn't a mech to bother, especially when he was in pain.

The doors hissed open again and in came Ratchet, looking quite irritated at something. Nightshade had a momentary lapse in memory and stared off into space, arguing with himself.

_Isn't he always irritated?_

_Well, he is CMO and he does have to put up with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe…I know I'd frown all the time if _I_ had to deal with those two on a daily basis!_

"SlagitalltoPit! I give up! Someone, deactivate me," Ratchet said, scowling and throwing his hands into the air. Ironhide chuckled, grinning at the near-frothing CMO.

"Aw, come on, Ratch…"

Ratchet felt a growl start in his vocal processing units, frowning at the weapons specialist. The mild irritation that had been plaguing Ratchet was now turning into full blown annoyance. Not even with all of his years of experience in dealing with Ironhide's stupidity could save the mech from Ratchet's wrath.

"What the pit did you do to yourself this time? Trip and fall while playing with your intake port?" Nightshade felt his cheek plates flame in mortification. Oh, Primus. They were cracking _dirty_ jokes.

"Go take it up the exhaust, Ratchet. I was out racing and I got something caught in one of my receptors," Ironhide said, an ugly look on his face. Nightshade covered his audio receptors. He was not going to listen to this! Virgin audio receptors!

"What were you doing, then? Chasing airplanes?" Nightshade had to slap both hands over his mouth to keep from giggling out loud. A small giggle escaped and Ironhide scowled at him, and Nightshade turned it into a hacking cough.

"Frag you!"

"Frag me? FRAG ME? I'll give you the oil change from hell, you aft-headed-"

"Sir?" Nightshade asked boldly, interrupting Ratchet in the middle of his rant. Ratchet stopped, a shocked look on his face. His mouth was open and moving, but no sound came out. Ironhide cowered. He literally cowered. Ironhide's life flashed before his eyes. The slaggin' rookie had interrupted Ratchet's tirade! The rookie was asking to be reformatted into a blender! Oh Primus…

"What, Nightshade?" Ratchet's voice was back to normal, deep and kindly. Ironhide peeped from between his fingers, his jaw falling wider and wider as he watched the interaction.

"I brought you the right tools to remove the wooden splinter," Nightshade said cheerfully, holding a tray with various instruments on them. Ironhide's optics darted between the two. What the…

Ratchet stared at Nightshade stupidly.

"What?" Nightshade asked, a pleasant smile on his face.

"…Gimme the tray."

Ironhide gulped as Ratchet sat heavily on the bench beside the berth. Ironhide jerked away from Ratchet, but the medic had a firm grip on his foot. The medic shot him a glare, and Ironhide tossed his hands up in defense. Well, his hands wouldn't do much anyway. Ratchet had a saw and a decent sized rifle. That, and his dabbling in hand-to-hand fighting could cause some fatal damage. Ironhide stopped thinking about Ratchet's abilities. His computer center had run rampant with images of the red-and-white mech standing over a pile of ash labeled "Ironhide".

"What part of not straining yourself did you not understand? No, Ironhide believes himself to be impervious to all injuries, blasted pile of bolts…" Ratchet muttered quietly, picking up the tools he would need for this procedure. Nightshade stayed well out of Ratchet's throwing trajectory. He had just interrupted Ratchet…and survived. Ratchet squinted up at Nightshade.

"Your break started five minutes ago, Nightshade. Go get something to drink and come back."

Nightshade nodded quietly and scampered out of the room, eager to stay out of Ratchet's way.

00000

The rec room was busy, as usual. Mechs were sprawled out over the various couches and seats in the room. They were all talking, drinking, arguing, or a combination of the three. Nightshade scurrying along the wall, hoping that no one would take notice of him. Alas, luck was not on his side today.

"Oi, Nightshade! Get over here!"

He cringed and straightened up, smiling over at the voice. It was Sideswipe, sans Sunstreaker.

Nightshade grabbed a cube of energon and made his way over to Sideswipe, waving jovially at the mechs seated around the table. Sideswipe and Jazz were seated at one end with Bluestreak and Bumblebee jammed between them. A mech by the name of Hound and his partner Blaster were seated in the middle. The other end of the table was taken up by Nightshade, Inferno, and an unnamed mech.

Hound's optics twinkled brightly as he took a sip of his energon.

"So, Night, what do you think about the girls coming back?"

Nightshade choked slightly and cowered slightly under the questioning glances from the mechs around the table.

"I will be glad to see them," he managed to answer. Nightshade clutched his cube close, almost hiding behind the tiny cube of plastic. Hound nodded, satisfied with the answer. He let a slow, lecherous smirk cross his face.

"I'll be more than glad to see tha girls 'gain…Primus, it's been forever since I had a good interface," Hound said slowly, nodding as the mechs around the table gave approving whoops. Nightshade nodded along with the rest, hoping that no one would ask –

"So who are you looking forward to seeing again, Nighthshade," Blaster said, waving a hand across the table. Nightshade paused.

"I…wasn't involved with anyone."

"And? We all know that you were with Elita's crew…wait a tic, wasn't Arcee on board?"

"She-"

"Yes, she was," Sideswipe said, letting out a soft whistle, "So, Nightshade, did you ever…you know…with Arcee?"

"Yeah, she interfaces with _everyone -"_

Nightshade's optics widened considerably as he struggled to speak.

_Eew! Arcee's one of my best friends! I couldn't think about her like that _ever

"I-I-I uhm-"

"Aww, look, boys, he's blushing!"

"Don't worry, Nightshade, we'll teach you and Baby Bee everything you two need to know about femmes – "

"And interfacing!"

There was a round of chortles from around the table as Nightshade and Bumblebee both ducked down in embarrasment.

00000

Nightshade wandered aimlessly through the hallway, keeping his eyes down and a thoughtful expression on his face. The conversation with the mechs had been very interesting. He and Bumblebee had been dubbed the babies of the group. It wasn't their fault that they were too young to find an unbound partner!

It was this that kept him from noticing that two very large mechs were fighting in the hallway intersecting the one he was in. It was also this that kept him from noticing that both mechs were now wrestling boisterously, tossing each other into the walls. And finally, it was this that kept him from noticing that a very large, very heavy mech was stumbling backwards until it was too late.

Nightshade's face became acquainted with the floor very quickly and very painfully as Sky Lynx's aft made itself comfortable between her shoulder blades. Ironhide landed across Sky Lynx, adding a few more tons to the pile of mech.

"What the slag! GET OFF OF ME!" Nightshade gasped, feeling his armor pop and crack in a few places. Ironhide groaned as he got up, offering a hand to the little mech. Sky Lynx had already gotten to his feet, laughing heartily and forgetting all about Nightshade. Ironhide, not too gently, yanked upwards.

"FRAGGIN' PIT!" Ironhide stumbled back a little as Nightshade delivered a painful punch to his arm. The rookie was holding one arm, whimpering softly. It was dangling uselessly, thanks to Ironhide and his brute strength.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Nightshade," Ironhide said, trying to usher him to the medical bay. All the while, Ironhide managed to suppress the laughter trying to escape his vocal processors. Nightshade's anger was comical!

00000

Ratchet rolled his optics as the doors to the medical bay hissed open. His optics stopped in mid-roll when he saw who entered the medical bay. Then Ratchet rushed out as Ironhide helped Nightshade sit in one of the stasis beds.

"What in the name of Primus happened?!"

"Well, Sky Lynx and I were wrestling in the hall way…and I smashed into 'im…"

"More like crushed me, you bit-brained second-handed-processes, pile of-"

"Language," Ratchet growled.

"You're one to talk," Nightshade muttered, a nasty look on his face. Ironhide managed to turn his laugh into a hacking cough.

"Well, is he gonna be okay?" Ironhide had been fidgeting, ready to run. Ratchet was getting _that_ look on his face…

"Yes, now out," Ratchet said, picking up a pair of pliers. Nightshade winced as Ratchet began removing the armor on his upper arm. Ironhide made himself scarce. Nightshade began to mutter quietly, shooting glares at the door. Ratchet shook his head and glanced up at Nightshade.

"I'll have to order you new armor…How on Cybertron did you not notice those two wrestling in the hallway?"

"I was thinking. OW be more gentle, please!"

"Quiet!"

"Bite me!"

Ratchet set his pliers down, a glare on his face. _Bite me? Where the pit did he come up with that one? _Ratchet's optics were narrowed almost to slits as he spoke.

"What did you just say?"

"Er…nothing?"

"I thought so."

After an hour, Ratchet had managed to reattach and fix everything. Wires were replaced, cracked armor repaired and soldered, and dents popped out. Ratchet grunted softly as he wiped his hands on a piece of clean fabric. He stood back and admired his work.

"Thanks, boss," Nightshade said, testing out the movement of his arm.

"Oh, by the way. You're due for a check up. Might as well get it done now."

"Ah…uhm."

"Alright, open your chassis."

"What was that? I can't hear you. Thanks for fixing me, Ratchet. I really appreciate it," Nightshade said, grinning at her mentor and trying to make a break for the door. Ratchet sidestepped in front of Nightshade, holding his hands up. Nightshade almost squeaked and he backed into the room.

_Slag slag slag, he's going to find out that I'm a femme and he's going to tell Prime, and I'll be stuck making sparklings for the rest of my life -_

"I said you're due for a check up," Ratchet said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"What?"

"Nightshade, don't play games with me. On the table, now."

"Be a good mech and do what the medic tells ya to," Red Alert said, making his way out of the door. Nightshade shot Red Alert a glare, silently cursing the mech. Red Alert was perhaps the only mech in the base that could have saved him from Ratchet.

"Seriously, Ratchet, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe another time," Nightshade said, starting to panic.

"I'm not going to hurt you. It's just a routine maintenance," Ratchet said, advancing. He had noticed the random spikes in Nightshade's processes, an indication of fear. Was Nightshade really that afraid of medical procedures?

"Er…I'm fine. See? My spark's going strong," Nightshade said. It was more of a question than a statement. Ratchet rolled his optics.

"Nightshade. Stop acting like a sparkling and get on the table."

"No."

"Nightshade," Ratchet growled, his optics starting to narrow – no patient had ever outright denied his requests. Nightshade took a quick peek around the room. The door was on the other side of the room. Maybe if he dove over the table-

"Don't even think about trying to escape." His tone had gone from angry to exasperated.

"No, I don't want a check up. I'm fine," Nightshade said, dancing away from the medic's outstretched fingers. Ratchet was angry. He lunged once more…and fell flat on his face as the mech twisted elegantly out of his way.

"What the slag- Get your aft over here!"

"NO!"

"NIGHTSHADE!" Ratchet lunged once more and managed to grab one of Nightshade's wrists. Nightshade made a small squeaking noise as Ratchet advanced. He literally picked Nightshade up and sat him on the table.

"Behave," Ratchet said, his intake fans heaving from the exertion. Nightshade glared at the medic while he turned to grab something off of the counter.

"I will…for now."

The only response he got was a low, angry sounding growl from the medic.

Nightshade stuck his glossa out at the back of Ratchet's head.

"Do it again and I'll use these pliers to rip it out," Ratchet growled, holding a pair of pliers up.

Ratchet glared up at Nightshade as he sat on the bench. He held a digital pad in his hand and a scalpel in the other. As he began testing joints and lines, he noticed something very interesting. He didn't linger too long on the compartments on Nightshade's wrists. That was funny. The mech never mentioned having weapons…He used a mild electrical current to gently prod the compartment back. Nightshade jerked back, but it was too late.

A handful of bracelets fell out onto the surgical table.

"I…uhm…can explain," Nightshade said, his optics wide.

"Please do," the medic said curtly. Nightshade began wracking her memory banks for an excuse.

(_I was abducted by aliens! My femme creator dropped me on my cranial unit every day! I ate bad energon!)_

"Well…you see…it was like this. HEY Ironhide!" Nightshade suddenly shouted. Ratchet turned. While Ratchet was momentarily distracted, he jumped off of the table, making a break for it. Nightshade didn't make it halfway across the room when he suddenly found himself pinned to something solid. Something solid like Ratchet's chest armor.

"Argh! Ratchet!"

"What the slag is going on, Nightshade? Either you tell me what's going on, or I'll strap you to a table and figure it out myself!"

"Nothing's going on, now let me go!"

"Explain these bracelets, Nightshade. What are you hiding from me?"

"I'm – not – hiding – anything!"

His sentence was interspersed with his struggle against the mech behind him. Ratchet's grip tightened and Nightshade winced in pain. He ceased struggling immediately. He was mildly surprised by Ratchet spinning him around and holding onto his forearms.

"Nightshade, I'm warning you," Ratchet growled out quietly, "You've got three seconds to tell me what's going on or I will call Red Alert in here."

"Fine. I'll tell you. Just…just let go of me, okay?"

Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously before he let go of Nightshade's wrists. He rubbed at them gently. Ratchet made a noise like a human clearing its throat.

"I…there's something you need to know."

"Obviously," Ratchet said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest plate. Nightshade winced slightly at Ratchet's angry tone. While he had made mistakes in the medical bay, he had never done anything to merit having an angry CMO sniping at her. And it hurt to see the mistrust in Ratchet's optic now. Nightshade felt his resolve weaken and his shoulders trembled slightly.

"I-I'm a femme."

Nightshade ducked her head, doing her best to ignore the sharp gasp from Ratchet.

"You _what_?"

"I'm a femme, okay? I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt anyone, I just…" Nightshade broke down quietly, wiping at the cleaning fluid tears that suddenly appeared on her cheek plates. Ratchet stared at her incredulously – why couldn't Nightshade trust him with this? Hadn't he earned her trust before? Hurt flooded Ratchet's systems along with guilt and surprise. He was guilty that she had to be cooped up like that. He was surprised that he actually felt guilt. Normally if someone lied to him, they'd be out of the med bay in an astrosecond flat…but…something in this little mech – er, femme – invoked kindness and the will to…protect? To protect her? He shook his head and tried to decide what to do with the femme.

Her hiccups subsided eventually and she turned sad optics over at him.

"Nightshade…you know I'll have to tell Prime about this."

She nodded miserably. A breem of silence went by before Ratchet spoke again.

"Did…did you really not trust me enough to tell me," he asked quietly. Her optics widened.

"Primus, no, Ratchet…you would have been the first person I told…well. Aside from Elita…but…I do trust you. I honestly do. I just don't feel safe around the other mechs," she said gloomily. Ratchet nodded understandingly. The other males on the base had been cooped up for far too long without the company of females, and he understood her concerns.

"I understand, Nightshade. We will talk later. Right now, you need to recharge. Your supply is running low. Go get some energon and come back," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Nightshade nodded slowly before wrapping her arms around him gently.

"Thank you, Ratchet."

He stiffened, staring down at her with wide optics. Never, in his entire career as a medic, had he been hugged by one of his patients – or coworkers. Lingering just an astrosecond too long, she let go of him, gloomily making her way over to his office to grab a cube of energon. Ratchet watched after her curiously, gently pushing aside the strange feeling in his spark box…

00000

D'aww. :) Cute moments.


	4. In Which There is a Nightmare

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.

**EDIT: Can you guess what I edited? More dividers! And some random bits of fluff. :P**

**00000**

Ratchet calmly stood up and wiped his hands absently. A femme? Here, on the base? Well, with this rowdy (and randy!) bunch, she was doing well to hide. Besides, her concerns were valid.

"So, what now?" Nightshade asked quietly, her optics on the floor.

"How should I know? I've never dealt with a femme disguised as a mech…you're not one of those transie-bots, are you?"

"NO! I'm…just hiding."

"Hm." 

Ratchet's optics nearly popped out of his head when the femme started removing her armor.

"I think you should keep your armor on, Nightshade. It…ah…wouldn't be good…if you wandered around in nothing but your protoform," Ratchet said, covering his optics. _Don't peek, don't peek, don't peek –ohprimustellhertostop!_

"I'm not taking it all off, you perv," Nightshade said, scowling up at him, "I just need it to be replaced."

She also clipped the wire from her voice modulator and now was twirling it between her fingers. He peeked through his fingers. Nightshade had simply removed all of the extra armor on her body, leaving her in her shell. The shell was designed to be light and fashionable, not for protection, like the female warriors. Like Elita. Before Elita was fitted with armor, she had been one leggy, voluptuous-Ratchet interrupted himself here. Optimus would _kill_ him if he found out that the medic was thinking about his mate like that. Ratchet shook his cranial unit, wondering if it really had been _that_ long since his last interface…

"Stay here. I need to get Optimus down here."

"But-"

Ratchet's look silenced her.

00000

Mirage was enjoying a nice cup of energon when he received the transmission from Nightshade. He spit the energon out of his mouth and took off down the hallway. All he had understood from the blubbering femme was "Ratchet", "took off armor" and "forced me to". Now, Nightshade was like a little sister to him, and he immediately thought that the mad medic had tried something innapropriate. It was only a matter of time before someone found out…but he never thought that Ratchet would do something like that! He growled and put a little more urgency into his sprint. He burst in through the doors of the medical bay, his posture threatening. He expected to see Ratchet and Nightshade, but almost tripped over his own feet when he saw the femme, sitting on a table, a pout on her face. He also noticed the lack of armor.

"What-"

"Ratchet knows," Nightshade said, her voice hollow as she looked away.

"How did he find out?"

"I was injured…"

"Oh, Nightshade," he murmured quietly, sitting on the berth beside her and pulling her into an embrace. Ratchet watched from his office, his optics narrowed. Apparently, Mirage knew about the femme in hiding. Jealously reared its ugly head in his spark. Ratchet suddenly found himself wanting to crush the sniper with his bare hands. 

"Did he do anything? I swear on my spark, if he touched you, I will kill him," Mirage said, pushing one piece of armor away. Nightshade shook her head.

"No, he didn't try anything, Mirage. He's a good mech."

Ratchet opened the door to his office and stood with his arms crossed, the customary frown on his face. Mirage's cool gaze turned icy as it alighted on the medic. Ratchet's glare turned equally as frosty.

"Explain, Mirage."

"What do you mean? She's a friend of mine," Mirage said, a small frown on his face, "And I was assigned to protect and guard her."

"You knew she was a femme all this time? And you didn't think that it _might_ have been important for me to know?"

"Yes and no, to answer your questions. It isn't any of your business that she's a femme. She's been through enough as it is, and she doesn't need any mechs like you hounding her for sparking," Mirage said, an ugly look on his otherwise aristocratic features. Nightshade groaned and buried her face in her hands. He did _not _just say that…

"Like I would ask her for that," Ratchet growled, his optics starting to narrow. How dare that little brat insinuate something like that! He was going to tear him a new one once the femme was out of hearing range…

"Ask? Please. Half the mechs on this base wouldn't bother _asking._ They would take what they want from her."

"Please stop arguing," Nightshade begged quietly, watching the two mechs grow angrier and angrier. Mirage silenced her with a look.

"Now listen here, you-"

"Don't tell me what to do, medic," Mirage snapped, standing and advancing.

"This is **my** medical bay. You'd do well to remember that. As for Nightshade's little secret, yes, I have to tell Prime. As for sparking? **I **won't be telling anyone but Prime about her being a femme. I will do nothing to break her trust in me," Ratchet said quietly, his voice growing more and more dangerous.

"She's the only female left on this planet. If you think I'll just stand and let you and Prime decide what her future here on this base is, you've got another thing coming," Mirage snarled, drawing his weapon from subspace. Nightshade trembled slightly as Ratchet's saw came to life with a high pitched whine.

"Mirage, please stop," Nightshade said, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him away from Ratchet.

"Nightshade, stay out of this," both males snapped. Nightshade whimpered quietly. She knew what kind of damage Mirage was capable of dealing and she didn't want Ratchet to be hurt on her behalf. Her spark twisted painfully at the mere thought of him being hurt and she pushed them apart, quietly begging for them to put their weapons away. The doors to the medical bay hissed open. Red Alert and Ironhide came into the room.

"Whoa. A femme. Where'd y'all find this prettly lil thang?" Ironhide asked, leering at the female. As everyone knew, Ironhide wasn't known for his thinking abilities…so, unlike Red Alert, he didn't add two and two and get four. Red Alert actually realized who it was that he was looking at. Nightshade cringed under Ironhide's lecherous stare and grabbed Mirage's arm, hiding behind him the best she could.

"Thank you, Ironhide. Now you've gone and scared her," Ratchet snapped, turning his wrath to him.

"I didn't do nothin'! Just talkin'! Primus, you'da thought it was illegal to talk to a femme!"

"Stay away from her," Mirage snapped, trying to pry Nightshade from his arm. 

Red Alert sighed heavily. "I knew you were hiding something, Nightshade…but nothing this big." Nightshade peeped from behind Mirage and nodded. Ratchet decided that to try and keep her as calm as possible.

"Tha's Nightshade? Nope, sorry. I know you too well," Ironhide said, backing off.

"So, Nightshade, you never had a brother," Ratchet asked gently, ignoring Ironhide's statement. She shook her head, slowly coming out from behind Mirage.

Ratchet sighed as the door hissed open. In came Prime, a scowl on his face.

"This better be important, Ratchet. I had to walk out on Secretary Keller for this…"

He fell silent as Ratchet reached behind Mirage, grabbed Nightshade's arm, and pulled her out from behind the mech. Mirage spluttered angrily. Nightshade batted Ratchet's hand from her arm and tugged away, biting her lip softly.

"Nightshade…is that you? What's going on?"

"Yes, it's _her_. She's been hiding this from us for who knows how long," Ratchet growled, glaring at Nightshade.

"Yes, because she knew that she was safer," Mirage snapped. Ratchet growled once more, starting to advance toward the blue mech.

"I see. We need to have a talk. Red Alert, Mirage, Ratchet, and Ironhide. The four of you, out." He was met with splutters of indignation from both Mirage and Ratchet. He held up a hand. "Fine. Ratchet and Mirage, you both can stay. Ironhide, Red Alert, do not speak of this to anyone."

Once the other two had left, Optimus shook his head and tried to figure out what to do with the femme. She _was_ the last femme on the planet…but he didn't want to force her into anything…and…well, Elita was due to arrive at any time now, so…well. What was he going to do?

"Ratchet? Can I borrow your office? The four of us need to have a chat," Optimus said heavily. Ratchet nodded and the little group triapsed into the spacious office.

Optimus sighed heavily as Mirage led Nightshade to a chair and helped her sit down. Ratchet and Mirage then took seats behind her, seeing as Optimus was definitely going to be having a few words with the femme.

"Nightshade, I can't even begin to say how completely irresponsible and dangerous it was for you to _not_ tell anyone about this," Optimus said, leaning back in his chair. Nightshade didn't answer, her optics cast down at the folded hands in her lap.

"Do you have any explanation _at all_ for why Ratchet had to find out about this while operating on you?"

Nightshade began to tremble just a little. Ratchet smirked as he saw Optimus waver at her blatant display of…well, femininity. Optimus didn't have a mean cog in his body.. Primus help the poor mech, he was a complete soft-spark, _especially_ when it came to dealing with a femme or sparkling. Optimus shot Ratchet a glare, making the mech drop the smirk on his face.

"I…I didn't tell anyone during the war because I was afraid of being sent out into space by myself. I wanted to fight for all the sparklings Megatron destroyed," she said quietly, her voice hollow with pain. Optimus's exhaust rumbled quietly, a sound almost like a human sigh.

"I'll give you credit. You've helped our cause and you've proven yourself. But the war is over. Why didn't you tell anyone now that it's safe," he asked quietly and gently.

"I heard them talking to each other in training…of what they'd do to a femme if they found one…and I don't want anything like that to happen to me," she said, her voice growing quieter and quieter.

Optimus sighed once more and folded his hands on his-well, technically it was Ratchet's-desk.

"I can't defend my men against things that they have said. They haven't been in the company of a female in many years. However, with Mirage as your guardian, they will not attempt to…win your attentions," Optimus said, one optic ridge rising slowly.

"What are your plans for her," Mirage said, his optics narrow.

"She's free to do what she wishes. I'm not one to decide her future. Besides, we've got a shuttle full of femmes due any day now."

"I see," Mirage said, content with Optimus's answer.

"So, I don't have to have sparklings?" Nightshade asked, hope in her voice.

"While I can't force you to bear a sparkling, I would prefer that you did."

"Why?"

"Nightshade, there are less than twenty femmes left alive," he said gently.

"Fine…just give me time to find a mech that I wouldn't mind_ bonding_ with."

"You know that the chance of finding your sparkmate is…well, almost none, right?"

"I know."

"Mirage, escort Nightshade back to her room, please. As her guardian, you are now responsible for her safety."

Mirage nodded, taking Prime's statement to his spark.

00000

Nightshade smiled down at the little bundle in her arms, cooing softly to it. It clicked and squealed, waving a tiny fist. "How's my little sparkling? Who's the pretty little femme?" she cooed, tickling it. Another sparkling, a green and white one sat beside her on the floor, coloring in a coloring book, made specially for him. Nightshade smiled as she looked at the pictures on the mantle. She already had five little sparklings, all grown up and with families of their own…her spark ached for a moment before she smiled. At least she still had the little ones in the apartment with her.

A pink sparkling ran by on unsteady legs, shouting loudly as she stole her twin's toy race car. The little green bot started whining, banging his cube on the floor.

"Give it back, give it back! Momma make her give it back," the little green boy wailed, chasing her sister.

"Behave, you two," Nightshade said, smiling. The door to the room opened and in came a set of triplets, two mechs and a femme. They were followed by a set of twin boys, one black, one white. Nightshade smiled up at them, joy swelling in her spark as she took in the sight of her little ones. Well, not the twin boys. They had just come of age, along with two of their sisters and another brother.

"Mother," both boys said in unison, tipping their heads. They went into the kitchen, probably to guzzle down some energon and go back to the lab with Wheeljack.

"Well, hello you three, how were your studies?"

"Boring!"

"Red Alert is so boring!"

"Nuh-uh! Red Alert is fun!"

The three sat on the couch beside Nightshade and started their homework quietly. Another femme entered the room. This one was older and was carrying a younger sparkling.

"Mother, she keeps throwing her food at me," the orange femme said, her nasal plates crinkling in disgust. Nightshade waved the comment away and beckoned her daughter closer.

"I'll put little Daisy down and I'll show you how to feed Blue Wave," Nightshade said, depositing the little femme in her arms in a crib with another infant. Nightshade then picked up the sparkling in her daughter's arms and proceeded to show her how to feed a little one properly.

The door opened once more.

In came a mech carrying a large box of supplies.

"Alright, all you runts out," he said, picking up each sparkling and kissing the tops of their heads. Once the room was empty, Nightshade peered up adoringly at her mate.

"What is it, love," she asked, embracing her mate.

"I think we should have another sparkling."

"Good, because I'm pregnant."

00000

Nightshade shot up in her recharge berth, screaming her vocal processors out hysterically. Three seconds later, there was a loud pounding on her door. Two seconds later, the door was shoved open and Mirage was in the room, his rifle out and glowing. Anyone who dared to touch Nightshade would have their aft handed to them! Where was the idiot, where was he-then he noticed the cleaning fluid tears running down Nightshade's cheek plates. He immediately shut the door behind him, his anger deflating into concern.

"What is it, Nightshade? Are you okay?" He sub-spaced his weapon and hurried over to her, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly. Nightshade shook her head silently.

"Oh, it was terrible, Mirage," she wailed, burying her face in his chest plates.

"What was," he asked kindly, rubbing her back softly. Nightshade hiccupped twice and looked up at him with big, watery optics, and launched into her recount of her rather disturbing dream.

By the end of the story, Mirage was in hysterics on the floor.

"How many did you have, again?"

"There were at least twelve of those _things_ running around, wreaking havoc!" She wailed once more, the cleaning fluid making fresh tracks down her cheeks.

"It isn't funny, Mirage! Stop laughing at me!"

This only made the blue mech in question laugh even harder. Finally, after a few minutes, Mirage was finally coherent enough to speak.

"I'm really sorry for laughing at you, but…Primus, that's funny!" He started giggling quietly while Nightshade stewed in her recharge berth, sending him an evil glare.

"I am never, EVER sparking with a mech," she said, crossing her arms.

"That's what you say now, Nightshade," Mirage said from his place on the floor. He was leaning back on his hands, his legs splayed over the floor, and his head tilted up at the femme.

"Nope, this femme's going to be chaste for the rest of her life," she sniffed, turning her nose up at Mirage, who only shrugged and grinned, and muttered something about her 'changing her mind the first time she _does_ mate…"

"So, Nightshade," he started, the very familiar "I-know-something-I-shouldn't" look on his face.

"What?"

"You know...I think Ratchet would find this dream _very_ interesting." Mirage was just kidding, but...

"What about Ratchet," Nightshade snapped, her optics blazing at him. Now what was Mirage going on about?

"Do you have a crush on him," Mirage said, a grin on his face plates. Nightshade felt her internal temperatures skyrocket – did she really feel _that_ way about Ratchet? No, she couldn't possibly have romantic feelings for him! But she felt the most delicious feeling of wholeness, of being complete when she was around him for extended periods…

"No, I don't!"

"Aw, yes you do, Nightshade! I think it's too cute! You and Ratchet are a perfect couple! You're both stubborn, you both have wicked aim, and you're both single!"

"MIRAGE! Unless you wish to die a very painful deactivation, I suggest you keep your vocal processor off!"

"Think of all the little sparklings you two will create," Mirage cooed. An angry yell emanated from where Nightshade had buried her face in her hands.

"I will _kill_ you," Nightshade said quietly and calmly, a chilling glint in her optic.

"No you won't, you love me too much…and you want to get into Ratchet's armor."

"No I don't! I don't like him! Shut up! Mind your own business!"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Mirage quoted, a smug grin on his facial plates. Normally, Mirage was quiet and kept to himself…but around Nightshade, he couldn't help but tease the little femme. It wasn't like she _actually_ had a crush on the CMO from Pit…right?

"What the slag is that supposed to mean, Mirage? Who told you?"

There was a loud thunk as Mirage's hands slipped out from beneath him and his head met the floor.

"Told me what?!"

There was a gentle rapping on the door frame.

"Is everything okay in here?" Prowl was standing in the doorway. He quickly shut it behind him. It wouldn't do for the news of a femme residing on the base to leak out…

"Yes, everything is fine, Prowl," Nightshade said, smiling at the sentinel.

"Should I go and fetch Ratchet?"

It took exactly three seconds for Mirage's self control to snap, and he was back on the floor, laughing while cleaning fluid trickled from his optics.

00000

:D


	5. In Which There is Recitation

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Transformers, except Nightshade.

BTW – I went and did some research and came up with this:

Astrosecond - .498 seconds

Joor – 8 hours

Orn – 2 weeks

Vorn – 83 years

00000

Nightshade sighed as she was pulled once more from a deep recharge by a noisy com link. There was a brief burst of white noise, and then a quiet chirp. Someone wanted to talk. At 0500 hours in the morning. 

_Well, I suppose I should get used to it…_

"Nightshade here."

"This is Optimus. We need to talk. I will be bringing Ratchet and Mirage to your quarters. I will be there in fifteen minutes."

"…okay."

"See you then."

Nightshade closed the link, a scowl on her face. So much for asking if they could come over. Nightshade then noticed the state of her quarters. Two days of confinement and now her room was a mess. Data pads were all over the floor, empty energon cubes stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa, and wires and tools scattered everywhere.

_Thank you, Mirage. As my appointed guardian, you've confined me to my room like a naughty sparkling._

It was true, though. Optimus declared that Mirage was responsible for her safety. Mirage had requested that she stay in her room until they could find a suitable solution for this little dilemma. Nightshade dove out of her recharge berth and started kicking things under the aforementioned berth. What didn't fit under the berth, she pushed into a small storage room. Ten minutes later, her room was a lot less messy, except she had found exactly twelve species of arachnids living in those energon cubes and something green growing on something that once resembled a pizza box. Why there was a pizza box in her room was beyond her, but she thought no more of it as she tossed it out of the window.

A sharp rapping on her door had her scrambling even faster.

"Just a few astro-seconds!" With one final kick, everything was shoved into a state of ordered mess.

She opened the door. There stood Optimus, Ratchet, and Mirage.

"Er, sorry for the mess…but on such _short notice_ it was the best I could do," she said, glaring accusingly at Optimus. Her look didn't faze him in the least. All three mechs marched in, and the door hissed shut behind them. There was a moment of awkward silence as the mechs gazed around her room. A look of amusement crossed Ratchet's face plates as he took in the conditions of her room.

"So. What's up?"

"We've decided that it would be best for you to remain in hiding. Ratchet will reattach your armor and reconfigure your vocal modulator. Once Elita and her group arrive, you will be free to do whatever it is that you like," Optimus said bluntly, wishing he could curl up in his berth and go back to sleep.

"Alright then, that's fine with me," Nightshade said, fidgeting a little. Optimus gave a curt nod and excused himself. Once the door had shut, Ratchet began walking around Nightshade, looking at her from head to toe. She felt his steely gaze linger on her backside for a few seconds.

"What on Cybertron are you doing," Nightshade asked, spinning around so that he wouldn't stare at her aft.

"I'm trying to size you up for armor," Ratchet said, pausing in his scans.

"You were staring at my aft," she stated, a small frown on her face.

"Mirage," Ratchet said, exasperated. He was getting impatient, because he had a stash of _premium _high grade in the med bay that was crooning his name like a siren.

"Nightshade, behave. We're only doing this for your safety," Mirage said, making himself comfortable on Nightshade's recharge berth. This did not go unnoticed by the medic, whose optics narrowed by just a fraction of an inch. Jealousy reared in him once again, wanting nothing more than to grind Mirage's smirk into the dirt with his foot.

"I'm finished, Nightshade. I will have your armor completed within the next half-orn," Ratchet said, a bit coolly. Nightshade pouted.

"Well, what will I do until then? I have NOTHING to do here in my room. Can I still help out in the med bay when you're through with my armor? Please?"

"It's fine with me, but you'll have to talk to Red Alert," Ratchet said, inclining his head.

"Thank you!"

"I must be going. I will see you in a few cycles," Ratchet said, nodding curtly and leaving the room.

Once the door had hissed shut, Mirage smirked at Nightshade, who was deep in thought. _Who knew that Ratchet was the jealous type? _What could he, Mirage, do to set these two up? Hm… Then Nightshade frowned slightly and turned to Mirage.

"He's a bit off today, isn't he?"

"I didn't notice anything."

"He was a bit curt, and he wouldn't look me in the optic," Nightshade said. Mirage's grin grew more pronounced. It seems like the little femme could read the medic like a holo-cube… He could use this to his advantage…but he didn't know how. Slag, where were the femmes when he needed them?

"What on Cybertron are you smirking about?"

"Nothing…" There was the vaguely familiar tone in his voice of "I-know-something-that-I-shouldn't-know-yet-I-still-know-it".

"Mirage, what are you going on about? I know you're thinking something."

"I think you really do like Ratchet."

"Are you still going on about that? I have no romantic feelings for him whatsoever! Primus, you'd think that just _talking_ to the mech-" Nightshade had tossed her hands up in the air, a frown starting to descend on her face plates.

"I didn't say you liked him romantically. I just think that you two are good friends," Mirage said, his grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. Nightshade growled. She and Ratchet were barely even friends! Why the Pit was he going on and on? Was it because she was one of the last femmes? Maybe! But she was NOT going to make him an uncle anytime soon! Preferably, NEVER! 

"As if. I don't think he ever really liked me," Nightshade said, pouting. Mirage stored away this little tid-bit of information.

00000

True to his word, Ratchet had the armor finished in exactly three solar cycles. Besides, he didn't have much to do with no decepticons around. He mostly cleaned the med bay and took care of basic repairs. The poor medic needed something to keep from going crazy, and here was his challenge.

Ratchet looked up as Nightshade stepped into the medical bay, escorted by Mirage. She looked angry about something and Mirage had the biggest smirk on his face. Now, Mirage was arrogant, but this was a new level of smugness.

"I ah…left my rifle in my room. I'll go grab it really quickly," Mirage said, waving at Nightshade. She turned to say something snarky, but he had already disappeared. Slagger. Nightshade groaned softly as Ratchet led her into one of the rooms, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Okay, get on the table, and we'll get started," he said bluntly, picking up a box of armor pieces and setting them on the table. Nightshade stared at him for a second.

"Well?" Ratchet gestured at the table, a welder in his hand. Nightshade looked at the welder, apprehensive of what the medic would do with it. She had seen some of the champion sized dents Sunstreaker had sported after visiting the med 'bay… Nightshade gingerly sat on the edge of the table, her legs dangling over the edge. Ratchet sat on a stool in front of her, his knee joints just brushing the insides of her thighs. He started on her arms first, saving the more complicated parts for later. Little did the unsuspecting medic know that the femme would have preferred a firm grip over his soft, feather-light fingers…

She bit back a soft moan as his fingers slipped over the edge of her chassis as he helped her slide on the shoulder guards, placing a few rivets to hold them in place. Nightshade immediately began trying to focus on something-_anything!_-to distract her from the medic sitting in front of her. _What was the initiation oath again? I promise to defend Cybertron and her inhabitants with my life…_Her spark jumped at the mere _thought_ of Ratchet's spark, mere feet away from hers.

…_I promise to defend those who cannot defend themselves with my life. I will do no harm…_Ratchet's fingers brushed up against the overlapping sheets of metal on her abdomen. The metal on her abdomen was designed to accommodate a growing sparkling, stretching out like the scales on an armadillo. In Nightshade's case, it was _very_ sensitive to touch, especially since she was in the prime of her youth… She managed to hold back the strangled gasp, but she pulled away from Ratchet's touch by just millimeters…and he noticed. 

"Don't move," he said, gripping her a bit more tightly. Something pleasurable jolted in her abdominal region, and it became extremely difficult to _not_ to voice her approval of his ministrations. He riveted on a plate and she let out a barely audible gasp when he brushed up against a very sensitive seam in her armor. He peeked up at her.

_-She smirked at Ratchet, beckoning him to her. He turned to her with a predatory look in his optics, hungrily raking over her body._

"_What is it that you need, Nightshade?"_

_She only glanced at him and he understood. Nightshade's lips met his as he descended onto her, pinning her to the berth -_

"Am I hurting you?"

"Huh? No," she said, trying to control her pump-beat and intake filters. They had gone completely _haywire_ at the snippet of a daydream. He looked up at her when he picked up the lower components of her armor, one optic ridge quirking slightly. Now he _really_ wanted to know what had the femme so flustered and heated up.

"You'll need to stand up for this," he said, holding up the armor that would cover her...important bits. Nightshade felt herself flush as he helped her off the table, kneeling beside her. He pressed the armor against her bottom, his hand flush against the inward curve of her back, resting just above her aft. Nightshade almost pulled away, but didn't.

…_I will cause no pain-his hands are so warm. I wonder if the rest of his body is as warm as his hands?_

"Hold this while I rivet it on," he said, as she held it against her tightly.

…_I will not abuse my power by any means! I will maintain my virtue and honor, and cause no blemish upon my spark!..._

He lifted up the front section. Nightshade felt her knee joints start to weaken when she felt his warm hands pressed up against her hip joints. He lingered for a moment, using one hand to hold it up while he grabbed the riveter.

…_I will do no harm. I will not permit politics, party, or social standing to interfere with my duties!..._

He began working on her legs, riveting each piece on quickly and efficiently. Nightshade vaguely wondered if he knew what kind of torture this was. _Oh, Primus,_ she moaned into her computing center,_ why is he doing this to me?! _One of his hands was feather light on the inside of her thigh and she almost off-lined at the simple touch.

…_Upon my spark I swear these oaths and to uphold them, to the best of my ability, for as long as I remain on-line…_

Ratchet said, "I'm going to plate your feet. You'll need to be on the table for this." Nightshade was relieved, because her feet had never really been sensitive to any kind of feeling.

The dirty images were starting to slowly disappear from her memory banks…

She nodded and waited in tense apprehension as he gathered the required materials. Finally the medic started the process, and her theory of insensitive foot plates was proven very wrong. Ratchet took a seat in front of her, and set one of her feet on his leg. Nightshade's computing center suddenly overflowed with very raunchy images involving her, the medic, and the berth she was currently seated on. The pleasurable jolts that flickered across her abdomen were now concentrated as a dull ache in her abdomen, flaring each time the medic touched her. Whatever _it_ was in her stomach coiled and tightened, a thick pulsating band of heat that refused to leave her in peace. The heat was so great that she _knew_ the medic could feel it radiating off of her. (Of course, he couldn't, but she didn't know that.)

Then he finished with her feet, and he stood up.

"Roll over onto your stomach. I need to finish your spinal armor," he said, holding a piece of plating. Nightshade obeyed, glad that the medic wouldn't be able to see her biting her lip…

…_these oaths I swear upon my spark, and to Primus and Primacon. If I should break these oaths, let my punishment be wrought unhindered…_

Finally, Ratchet finished, after several agonizing minutes. She rolled back over, the medic offering a helping hand.

"We aren't through," he said, a small smile on his face, when Nightshade tried to make a break for it. He stood in front of her, helmet plate in one hand. He slipped it onto her cranial unit, snapping it into place. With one warm hand under her chin, guiding her head gently, Ratchet snapped the helmet into place, piece by piece. Nightshade began to space out…

"Alright, you're done," Ratchet said, clapping her on the shoulder and startling her out of her reverie.

"Thank you, Ratchet. I really appreciate what you've done for me," she said, her voice full of happiness.

"Oh, we've almost forgotten something. I need to replace that wire in your vocal modulator…" He began digging through bins for a similar wire to the one that she had had before. She sat on the table and waited. A triumphant "ah-hah!" had her smiling at Ratchet's antics. He stood straight back up and then approached her.

"Tilt your head back…a little more…a little bit more…okay, stay still," he said, his fingers making short work of the conversion. She tested her voice out. It was a bit scratchy, but it still worked.

Ratchet's smile was frozen as he helped Nightshade off the table. He had just seen a pretty femme turn into a pretty mech. Now that was something he didn't need to think about.

"You're all finished. Your aft needs to be here at 0600 hours tomorrow morning," Ratchet said, opening the door.

"Thanks, Ratchet," Nightshade said, smiling up at her mentor. Problem one was taken care of: her femininity was no longer discernable.

Now she had to move onto problem number two.

How the Pit was she going to get rid of that weird feeling in her fuel tanks?

00000

Ratchet shut the door to his quarters. More like slammed, but he preferred not to think of it like that. He ambled over to his berth, kicking a data pad out of the way, and flopped down, groaning softly. Helping Nightshade with her armor had been…interesting. Part of him was thoroughly aroused, ready to go to the femme's room, beat her door down, and show the femme what he was capable of... The other part was slightly disturbed at the conversion from femme to mech.

He wasn't blind. He had noticed the subtle changes in her intake filters, the spike in pump-beat, and her optics darkening. The tiny little gasp that she had let out had caused him to become _painfully_ aware of the female mere inches away from him. Ratchet, being the mech he was, barely held his frustration back as his processing unit replayed that little gasp, pure music to his audio receptors. Ratchet tried to clear his processing unit. Thinking about the female tonight would ensure that he would not recharge at all.

Especially if his computing center kept conjuring up those images of Nightshade beneath him, panting his name-he shook his head and tried to focus on something that didn't involve females at all. He groaned and rolled onto his back. There was no noise in the room and the air was hot and muggy…and it was difficult to take in any air.

Ratchet rolled over onto his side, groaning and trying to initiate his stasis sequence.

00000

A few weeks passed. She, well, "he" became friends with a few of the mechs on the base. Bluestreak was one of his fellow rookies. He talked too much and he was too nice, and that's why Nightshade immediately became friends with him during their first training session with the weapons-obsessed Ironhide. Sunstreaker was slightly psychotic and Sideswipe was depressed, but they were both intelligent and knew how to pull a prank so well, it could make even Prowl crack a smile. Bumblebee was too darn adorable with those baby blue optics and shiny yellow armor, and too young, and Nightshade immediately felt a motherly duty to protect the little 'bot. Among her fellow companions were Hound, Jazz, and Blurr.

Training was hell on the femme, who had previously been a spy. "He" had never done any kind of hand to hand combat with a larger mech, and had most certainly never used anything bigger than "his" small sniper rifle. Needless to say, when handed a large arm mounted cannon, a stupid look crossed Nightshade's face. Ironhide had nearly smacked Nightshade when he asked what to do with it.

Training in hand to hand combat and plasma cannons weren't the only things Nightshade had to work on. They were also stretched to their limits in physical agility (thank goodness she was a dancer! She had an innate sense of balance and agility, thanks to her lessons), strength (something that she most definitely had to work on), and intelligence (which she was average in).

One morning, Nightshade staggered into the med bay, tired. He hadn't gotten to recharge until 0300 hours that morning, because Ironhide had him running laps and cleaning rifles due to Nightshade's incompatibility with the arm mounted cannon. Nightshade slugged back another cube of energon. The energy sluggishly made its way through her lines, barely helping him stay awake. Ratchet ambled up to him, mumbling a quick good morning.

Ratchet too, was unable to recharge the previous night, but because of very different reasons. Now that his computing center registered Nightshade as a femme, there was nothing else that he could think of other than interfacing with her now and often. Denying himself of things was something that he was used to, but this was a whole new level of torture for him.

"Tired?"

"Didn't recharge until 0300 hours."

"Ah, I see."

"Need more energon," Nightshade grunted, sliding into a seat, unable to hold back the sleepy rev her engine let out. Ratchet laughed and went into his storage room, rummaging around for something. Finally, he came back out and set something down on the table with a loud _clunk_.

Nightshade opened one optic blearily. It was a barrel of high grade, from Ratchet's personal stash. "Uh…"

_Slag it all. I need a break._

"Don't worry. As long as you don't tell Prowl, we'll be fine," Ratchet said, drinking the shot in one go. Nightshade looked from the barrel to Ratchet back to the barrel. Nightshade picked it up, slugged it back, and wiped his mouth plates off while belching loudly.

"You…certainly know how to…drink."

"Well, I'm a mech, remember? Got any more high grade?"

Ratchet put two more barrels on the table.

"Cheers."

00000

"Ergh…Ratchet to Optimus."

"Yes, Ratchet?"

"I'm not going to be able to work tomorrow."

"Are you ill? Do I need to get Red Alert? Do you need more time off? Do you need me to come to the med bay? What's wrong?"

"I'm feeling…ill."

"I see. Take as much time as you need off," Optimus said, his concern gnawing a hole in the pit of his stomach. If the CMO was sick…to put it in a nutshell, they were screwed, like Samuel J. Witwicky had once said. What if the decepticons attacked? What if there was a mass invasion and they took over the base?

While his computing center was running through mass invasion scenarios, he hurried to the med bay, intent on making sure that Ratchet was okay. The scene that lay before him boggled him. There were twelve open, _empty,_ barrels of premium high grade on the table, and Ratchet and Nightshade were nowhere to be found.

Optimus stopped, turned around, and went back to his office.

Primus only knew that the medic needed some time off. But where was Nightshade?

"Optimus to Mirage."

"Go ahead, sir."

"I just went to the med bay."

"…okay, sir."

"There were twelve empty barrels of high grade on the table…and I couldn't find Nightshade or Ratchet."

"I am going to KILL him…first thing tomorrow morning," Mirage said, rolling over in his recharge berth. He too, was the victim of Ironhide's training programs.

00000

Nightshade and Ratchet, both giggling, staggered down the hallway to Ratchet's room.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for this?" Nightshade asked, focusing a pair of bleary optics on Ratchet's face.

"Noo, Ironhide deserves this," Ratchet said, punching in the key code to his room. After a few tries, he managed to type in the code.

They staggered in and Nightshade looked around the room. It was _huge_. He had a complete living area, a mini-bar in one corner, and two storage units. Nightshade would have given her rifle for some extra storage… As she wandered around the living quarters, she came to an empty doorway. She took a quick peek. It was a _library_. Nightshade's computing center almost fizzled out as she took in all of the holo-cubes and disks and memory cards on the shelves. He had a couch under a window, and a sleek computer beside it. She almost whimpered at how many hours worth of information was in there.

"There's another section in the back," Ratchet offered helpfully. Nightshade almost went giddy at the thought. _More holo-cubes?If only I could convince him to let me stay in here, for even just a joor…_

"How come your room is so huge? Mine's barely big enough to stretch out in," Nightshade said grumpily, taking note of the wonderful view of the forest surrounding the base from the medic's window. The doors in the apartment were open. Two bedrooms (she immediately noticed the one with a _massive_, comfortable-looking berth in it), an office, and an empty room.

"I'm CMO, remember?" Ratchet said, making his way over to a cabinet slowly. He opened the door carefully, retrieving the disk and cradling it to his chest.

"Pit, my berth doesn't even have cushions on them," Nightshade grumbled quietly to herself, taking note of the plush looking covering on the medic's berth. _What do I have to do to get in a bed like that?_ Even though she couldn't technically blush, she still felt heat rising in her cheek plates as she realized the implications of what she had just thought.

"What's the empty room for? Patients that you reformat into toasters and alarm clocks?"

"I haven't decided yet. I think I'll convert it into more storage," he said, absentmindedly.

Nightshade turned to Ratchet, a completely serious look on her face.

"What on Cybertron do I need to do for more storage?"

Ratchet snorted and said, "I wouldn't go around saying that, if I were you, Nightshade."

"You dirty minded-!"

"Hey, you're the one who said it," Ratchet said, flopping down on his couch. He opened a sleek laptop and inserted the disk. Nightshade sat beside him, popping her knuckle joints. Time to get the party started…

00000

:P


	6. In Which There is High Grade

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

00000

Nightshade groaned as her computing center rebooted. It was too early in the morning for this. The sunlight was cheerfully pouring in through the window, burning into her optical relays. She dropped her head back down…and there was a clunk as her cranial unit met something metal. She frowned slightly, not understanding what it was. There was something rumbling quietly…something was radiating massive amounts of warmth…she yawned quietly, ready to go back into recharge.

"Slaggin' Pit…," she moaned, rubbing her aching head. She looked at the thing her head had hit. There was a mass of metal buried partially underneath her…something red and white in color.

"What the-Nightshade, why _the frag_ are you in my recharge berth?! Why are you on TOP of me?!"

Nightshade shot up, propping herself on her hands. She had been sprawled across Ratchet's frame, slightly curled up. She quickly moved from her perch atop him, scrambling away to the other side of the berth. His confused (and slightly darkened) optics watched curiously.

"Tell me we didn't-" Nightshade started, then buried her face in her hands. Primus, she didn't want to **not** remember her time with Ratchet? What if she conceived? What if she ended up like in her dream?! She groaned softly. The silence was so loud it felt like her audios were about to burst.

"We didn't," Ratchet finally said, his optics starting to focus.

"Good," Nightshade groaned, rolling over onto her side. She wasn't moving, nope. Not at all, especially when she was so comfortable… Ratchet stared at the being in the berth beside him. What on Cybertron was she-he-it thinking?!

Faint pieces of the previous night came rushing back to him. Ah, high grade, and lots of it, something about photoshopping a picture of Ironhide, and a mild argument. Ratchet had insisted that Nightshade take his berth, but Nightshade insisted on taking the couch since it was Ratchet's apartment. Then he vaguely remembered someone nudging him and telling him to scoot over because it was too cold out in the living area…

Ratchet groaned and rolled over, intent on going back into a nice, long, uninterrupted recharge, he'd deal with this in a few hours-

"Mirage to Nightshade." Two pairs of groans answered the blue mech.

"What the Pit do you want, Mirage? It's too early in the morning for this."

"I just wanted to know where you were. There were reports of you and Ratchet staggering back to his quarters last night, and I was concerned." She could just hear the smirk in his voice.

Nightshade was about to reply, when Ratchet beat her to it.

"Go frag yourself, Mirage. Close the link, Nightshade."

Nightshade obeyed and snuggled into the comfortable warmth, drifting into recharge…

00000

Ratchet stirred and stretched. This was the first time in _years_ that he had had a proper recharge…and with a femme in the berth with him. Heh. Too bad he hadn't gotten any. He peeked on optic open. Nightshade wasn't in the berth. Well. That was rude. Sleep in his berth and disappear? Very rude. Ratchet swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up. If he stayed in any longer he'd be in stasis for the next orn and a half.

He ambled out into his living room and was pleasantly surprised to find Nightshade sitting on the couch, a holo-cube in one hand and a cube of energon in the other.

_I wonder if this is what it would be like – no, it won't ever happen…_ Ratchet thought, a bit sadly as he watched the femme in hiding tuck her legs underneath herself. He felt something fluttering in his chest as she looked up at him.

"Mmm…Morning, sleepy head," she said, taking a sip of her energon. It was a bit odd seeing a mech acting so femininely. The fluttering was getting stronger, but he squashed the feeling before it developed more.

"More like afternoon. It's past noon," Ratchet stated, going to his kitchen and grabbing a cube of energon. The silence that followed was a bit awkward.

"So-"

"So-"

They both started at the same time.

"You go first."

"You go first."

They both looked at each other and laughed.

"I wouldn't mind you staying with me for the rest of the day," Ratchet said, hope filling his voice. Nightshade nodded once, then twice, before saying, "I would like that very much."

So passed by the rest of the afternoon, the two reading, drinking, and talking away the hours. Mirage had tried to contact her twice, but before he could ask anything, she would say something like, "If we aren't under attack, leave me alone".

"Nightshade, seriously. You and Ratchet are needed in the command center," Mirage's voice sang out over the com link, joy in his voice. Nightshade curiously asked, "Why?"

"Just get both of yourselves down here in the next breem. Trust me, you want to see this," Mirage said, his voice urgent, but ecstatic. Ratchet peered at her curiously as he stood up, offering her his hand. She took it and he helped her stand.

"So, what do you think has Mirage so excited?" Nightshade said, jogging down the corridor. Ratchet followed, their footsteps echoing loudly in the strangely empty base.

"I don't know, but I think everyone else knows about it," he said, as they passed the empty rec room. A few turns and hallways later, they found themselves in front of the command center…along with thirty other mechs.

"Ah, Nightshade! Come here! You too, Ratchet!" Came Optimus's jovial voice.

Nightshade clambered onto the platform with Optimus, Ratchet following. There, on a large screen, was…

"ELITA!!"

"Nightshade, it's wonderful to see you once more! We're within a million kilometers of the planet right now, and we'll see you on the base in approximately two days!"

"That's great, Elita! How is everyone?"

"Oh, they're all fine. Wheeljack has been denied access to volatile chemicals, Chromia can't wait to get her hands on Ironhide-" Here, Ironhide let out a loud whoop, "-Oh, calm your processes, Ironhide. Oh, Fire Star is coming in on a second shuttle. We found eight mechs and two femmes on the way here! They will be joining us on the base." Elita could not keep the elation out of her voice. 

Chromia shoved her commander out of the way and peered into the screen.

"If you can hear me, Ironhide, you and I need to have a chat," she growled into the microphone, threateningly. A few mechs laughed at Ironhide, who had suddenly disappeared…

Elita pushed Chromia back out of the way, only to find Wheeljack playing with the camera.

"Ratchet! Red Alert! I can't wait to land! I'll be able to show you my research on combustibles and fuel-" Both Ratchet and Red Alert smacked their palms into their foreheads, groaning. It seems that there would be no more peace and quiet once Wheeljack arrived… Wheeljack was replaced by Hot Rod and Springer, and Arcee managed to squeeze between both of them to say a quick hello. Arcee spotted Nightshade and waved enthusiastically, pestering Nightshade with question after question about Earth. Nightshade didn't notice any of the jealous looks she got from some of the mechs around her. Hoist and two other minibots waved before they were pushed back out of the way by Elita. Elita 'hmphed' and sat back down.

"Ratchet, how are you? Do you need more supplies? We've got plenty in the cargo hold. We've got a few _brand new_ lasers, state-of-the-art surgical equipment-" Nightshade giggled at the glazed look in Ratchet's optics. No more outdated equipment? Ratchet's fingers flexed. He'd be holding a brand new laser soon, he thought giddily.

"And I brought someone I thought you might like to see," Elita said, a grin on her face.

"Who? It had better not be Wheelie," Ratchet said, grinning at the tiny bot standing by Elita. The little bot used a rather vulgar human gesture at Ratchet (it seems that the little bot was making good use of WiFi), and turned away, pouting slightly.

"No, much better."

"Hello, Ratchet," said a soft, feminine voice. Nightshade's optics snapped to the screen. _Who the slaggin' pit was this femme and why was she eying Nightshade's claim?_ Ratchet was enraptured with the beautiful blue femme on the screen and she growled silently. Envy welled up in her as she realized that they were possibly perfect for one another.

"Moon Racer? Is that really you?" Ratchet's voice was filled with pure joy. Nightshade felt the ugly feeling of jealousy rising up in her. She clenched her hands, her optics narrowed slightly. Ratchet and Moon Racer chatted amiably, while Nightshade stood nearby, simmering in her armor. A dark cloud 

had appeared on the happy horizon of her computing center. Now there was a class 5 hurricane whirling around up there.

"Well, I have to go, Ratchet, but I'll see you soon," the femme said quietly, smiling at the medic and taking leave. Elita sat back down in the chair, grinning at the medic. Ratchet sported a goofy smile on his face. Elita then took notice of Nightshade, who had a rather strange look on his face. His optics were narrowed, hands clenched…oh dear! It seemed that the mech was jealous!

00000

Nightshade marched stiffly from the room, ignoring Ratchet's calls of "Wait up!" She instead joined Bluestreak and Bumblebee for a cup of energon instead, unable to believe what she had just seen. Was Ratchet just playing with her? It seemed so to Nightshade's computing center. Moon Racer was one of Elita's best analysts. She was intelligent, she spoke several dialects fluently, and she knew how to fence. The damn pansy didn't know how to shoot, though... Nightshade's grip on her cube tightened, the edges digging into the sensitive metal of her hands.

_Well, at least I didn't give him what he wanted…_

Ratchet was perplexed. Nightshade had suddenly ditched him in the middle of the crowded room. He was jostled by several mechs intent on getting some high grade and celebrating the arrival of the femmes. He finally pushed his way through the crowd, and his optics brightened slightly when he saw Nightshade. Nightshade saw him from the corner of her optic and stiffened slightly. She stood suddenly, excused herself, and disappeared into the crowd. Thanks to her small frame and the height difference between her and the mechs surrounding, she could slip in and out of the crowd without being spotted. Pausing by a door, she waited for it to open and shut (making it look like she had left the room), and then turned back into the crowd. There. That should get Ratchet off of her trail for a few breems, at least. Seconds later, Ratchet disappeared from that door.

"What was that all about, Nightshade? I mean, you've been acting pretty funny lately. You're suddenly ditching Ratchet. I thought you guys were close friends. Did he make you angry? Is there something wrong?" Bluestreak said, looking up at Nightshade, who had suddenly reappeared.

"No, I'm fine. Just ditching the Hatchet. He told me I needed to get serviced," Nightshade said, a small grimace on his face. Bumblebee chuckled and said, "That's pretty clever. I'll have to try it one day…"

A half joor passed by and the party was just getting good. Sunstreaker had found a large stash of high grade, Jazz had a human contraption called an "Ipod" wired into the PA system, and Ratchet was nowhere to be found.

00000

It was nearing 0600 hours in the morning, and the music was still shaking the walls. High grade was pouring freely, and Nightshade was in the middle of it all. She was smart – she didn't touch a drop of the high grade. Bumblebee and Bluestreak were both overenergized and passed out on the floor. She began to sway side to side softly, bobbing to the music. Somehow, just somehow, the party migrated into the hallway when the rest of the mechs joined in.

Nightshade sat beside Bumblebee and Bluestreak, murmuring tiredly. She grabbed the cushion off of one of the couches and curled up, too tired to even bother walking back to her room.

Ratchet peered into the med bay…or what was left of it. At some point during the night, the party was moved into the hallway…and had spilled into surrounding rooms, including the medical bay. It seemed logical that if someone were injured during the party, they'd be in the med bay and they'd be fine. 

Empty high grade barrels and ten mechs littered the floor. Jazz was passed out underneath one of the tables, recharging away. Ratchet growled, once he had gotten over his initial shock.

He turned on all of the brightest lights in the medical bay, ignoring the groans of protest from everyone around. He kicked Jazz in the aft, making his way over to the window. The smell of high grade was making him light headed.

"Everyone get your afts up and out of here," Ratchet yelled, his patience snapping. The mechs scrambled for the door, not wanting to face the wrath of the medic _and_ a hangover.

Nightshade stayed behind, yawning.

"You need help cleaning up, boss?"

"Shouldn't you be working the high grade out of your systems?"

"I've learned my lesson on drinking high grade. I'm not touching the stuff," Nightshade said coolly, kicking a few empty barrels into a pile. How dare he assume she had gotten pissed like the rest of them…

00000

Optimus had every single mech in the base cleaning up the floors with human contraptions known as toilet brushes. Optimus and Ironhide had been away on a diplomatic mission, to request permission for the shuttle full of refugees to land in an airport somewhere. They were successful, had acquired more supplies to expand the base, and had started the process of hunting down Starscream. The both of them were ecstatic…and then they came back to find out that the base was _trashed_. Needless to say, the explosion that followed shortly after was not pleasant. Jazz had nearly been thrown in the brig (he was second in command! He should have been more responsible!).

Optimus had nearly blown a gasket when he saw the state of the med bay. Energon and high grade was splattered on the floor, along with the rejected contents from someone's tanks. Nightshade was dutifully within, sweeping cans and barrels, and other things into a large pile. Nightshade was one of four mechs on base that wasn't completely hung over.

00000

Twelve hours later, the base was sparkling clean. When some of the mechs tried to make a run for it and curl up in their recharge berths, Optimus smirked and said, "Now, to your posts, all of you."

Optimus smirked at the groans from all around him.

"Do I have to make it double shifts?"

"No sir," most mechs immediately replied, taking off before their leader could be even more unfair.

"If only the femmes back on Cybertron knew how cruel he really is. They wouldn't have a fan club dedicated to him," groused Jazz as he slumped in his seat.

He was right. Optimus had had a rather large group of femmes dedicated to him back on Cybertron. He was kind and gentle and intelligent and thoughtful, he was handsome, built like a mountain, and he loved communicating, he was passionate and compassionate, and he was _born_ to lead. He was, essentially, every femme's wet dream…except for the small fact that he was bonded loyally to Elita and had optics for no one but her. Many a time did Elita display her man on her arm, grinning smugly at the adoring femmes around…when Optimus wasn't looking, of course.

Nightshade sat back on her heels as she finished scrubbing the med bay floors. She made a note to kill Sunstreaker when she was through. He had been the source of rejected high grade…and was currently AWOL. Nightshade frowned again as she remembered the adoring look on Moon Racer's face as she spoke with Ratchet…and vice versa.

Nightshade's movements became jerky and angry as she set to scrubbing _something_ off of the cabinets. Only Primus would know what it was, because she had never seen anything in that violent of a shade of green. As she scrubbed and scrubbed, Nightshade began thinking. Since Ratchet was obviously taken, who would she pursue (she wasn't getting any younger, either way)? Prowl was bonded to someone (he wouldn't say who)…Red Alert was bonded to a younger femme, due to arrive with the refugees…Mirage was like her brother, so that wouldn't work…all of the males she knew were bonded or involved.

Bluestreak sounded promising, but he talked a little too much for her tastes. Neither of The Twins were worth the trouble…Wheel Jack? No, thank you. Who else was on the ship?

She absently rubbed at the spot on the cabinet, straining her memory banks…Hot Rod and Springer. Hm…Springer wasn't available, he was with Arcee…but Hot Rod? He seemed like a nice mech. He was athletic, mostly intelligent, and was one of Prime's right hand men…and he was attractive. And he had worked with the leadership matrix. Wait a tic. Was she turning into one of those power hungry femmes? Eh. He'd lost the leadership matrix like five times, though. Perhaps he wasn't as responsible as she would have liked…

Nightshade heaved a great sigh, scrubbing once more. Hopefully, she wasn't one of those femmes…If she was, she'd go after Ultra Magnus. He was too old anyway. And…Leo? He _was_ next in line for the leadership matrix. And he was _smoking_ hot, especially since he was one of the few Maximals left. A small grin crossed her face plates. She was turning into another Firestar. Crazy femme went after all of the high ranking ones.

She set down the rag, having finally removed whatever-the-slag-it-was off of the cabinet, and she left the med bay, turning the lights off after herself. That jerk would regret the day he hurt her…

She found Mirage in the rec room, his upper body splayed over the table he was sitting at. His head was resting on his arms and there was a half-empty cube of energon beside him. He was recharging away, not disturbed in the slightest by the noise in the room. Nightshade poked him in the shoulder and sat down.

"…the frag you want?" He grumbled, not looking up.

"Well, that's a pleasant way to greet me. Not even a hello or anything for your favorite mech in the whole world?" Nightshade was mildly offended.

"Why should I be nice to you? You only had to clean up the med bay."

"Well that's because I didn't get trashed like you," Nightshade said, smirking. Ah, the perks of being smart…

"Frag you."

"No thanks."

A growl met her audio receptors.

"Aw, poor Mirage. I'm here to talk, anyway," Nightshade said, stealing Mirage's cup of energon.

"'bout what?"

"I don't know…I'm just kind of…lonely. That's it."

"I see." Mirage had sat up, interested in where this conversation was going to go (and where his energon had gone).

"Once the shuttle lands, well, I was thinking. Find me someone nice and settle down," Nightshade said carefully, gauging Mirage's reaction. His face was questioning.

"I see. Well, there are nice people…around."

"Yes…well."

"Who did you have in mind?" A grin was forming on Mirage's face and he reached for his stolen energon. Hah hah, the femme wanted Ratchet... He took a giant mouthful-

"What about Hot Rod?"

-and he sprayed the energon all over the table, choking as it clogged his intake filters.

_Hot Rod? Has the smell of high grade addled her computing center?!_

"Wh-what?"

"I thought so. He doesn't seem to be too responsible. What about Leo? He seems like a nice one. I mean, we did go on a few away missions together. He was kind, and he is intelligent. And good looking. Pit, he's a _maximal_. You know how sexy that is? And he's tall," Nightshade said, thoughtfully. Mirage just stared at her blankly. His energon sat on the table, forgotten.

Mirage didn't bother wiping the energon off of his face as he spoke.

"I…erm. He's alright. I mean, if you want to pursue him, that's fine."

"Oh, good. I'm glad that you approve. He was always just so…rawr."

Mirage stared at the femme stupidly. Why did she suddenly _not_ like Ratchet? What happened when she stayed with him?

"What happened with you and Ratchet? I thought you…you know. Liked him."

"Hm. I _thought_ I did, and I thought he liked me back, but I guess I was wrong. I never knew about his mate," she said absently, tracing the rim of her twice stolen cup of energon.

"Wh…what?" Mirage asked stupidly.

"It doesn't really bother me. I hope he has a nice life with her once she arrives," Nightshade said pleasantly, finishing off Mirage's energon.

00000

Chaos met her optics when she arrived at the landing field. Mechs and femmes were carrying supplies to any mechs that could carry them (like Optimus) and loading them. Femmes were giggling and talking loudly, happy to be back on a planet and not cooped up on a ship with a bunch of randy mechs. Humans were darting out of the way, barking orders at one another. Mirage nudged her and jerked his head slightly in one direction.

Nightshade took one look and almost died. Leo was walking in their direction, light glinting off of his pristine white and red armor. However, instead of meeting up with them, he was stopped by Ironhide.

"I think I need to go and…change," Nightshade said, licking her lips. Mirage rolled his optics. The femme was crazy…

Nightshade disappeared for almost a joor before she returned…with her battle armor missing… Mirage felt his jaw drop. This was _not _the nice Nightshade he knew. Even though Nightshade didn't come close to competing with them, Elita and even Chromia gave this femme a once over. Elita's optics narrowed by just a hair as this femme approached.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Have you forgotten me so quickly, Elita?"

"Excuse me? I was not aware that we were on a first name basis," Elita said, starting to bristle with indignation.

Nightshade shook her head.

"Really. It's me. Nightshade."

Elita's optics widened as she began to see similarities in the color of armor…height…slim build…and how she spoke.

"Nightshade? You're…a femme?"

"Yes, ma'am. I was hiding because I didn't want to be the only femme on a base full of randy mechs," Nightshade said bluntly, shrugging her shoulders delicately. Chromia threw her arms around Nightshade.

"I _knew_ there was something odd about you!"

"What was it?"

"I was always jealous of your aft. I knew a mech couldn't be built like that…I knew it!"

Nightshade covered her mouth plate with her hand, giggling.

"Chromia! Such foul language is _not_ becoming!"

"I'll talk however I want. I want to recharge, I want something to eat and I'm…how did you say, Nightshade? 'Randy?' I'd like those wishes fulfilled in any order," Chromia said, grinning lecherously in her mate's direction.

Elita and Nightshade broke down into giggles. Nightshade had to stifle her giggles, because Optimus and Ironhide were headed their way. She stepped to the side as the femmes rejoined their mates. Nightshade watched on with a sad smile on her face. Then she turned away, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.

"Oh, don't go anywhere, Nightshade, stay with us!" Chromia called, leaning back from her mate's embrace.

"As long as I don't have to watch Ironhide fulfill your wishes, Chromia," Nightshade said, making her way back over to the happy group. Chromia burst into giggles and laughed even harder as Ironhide whispered something in her ear. Nightshade hummed softly and looked up at the sky, watching as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

Optimus and Elita had made their way over to a nearby tree and were cuddling underneath it, happy little smiles on their faces. Ironhide and Chromia were…exploring each other, and Nightshade had no desire to watch her Lieutenant grope Ironhide. It was too disturbing. So, Nightshade flopped down on the grass a few meters away, crossing her arms under her head. The stars were twinkling so brightly, she could imagine they were celebrating the arrival of the refugees with her. They should celebrate in a few days…

She suddenly shot up from her seated perch. An idea had struck her like lightning. Nightshade scrambled to her feet, and started walking in Jazz's direction.

00000

"Hey, look at that one, Jazz," Hot Rod said, nudging his silver companion. They were both sitting up against a large boulder, checking femmes out. Now that femmes made up nearly forty percent of the residential population, they could actually pursue a few of the femmes without the mate of the aforementioned femmes kicked their afts.

"Look at the one headed this way…nice chassis," Hot Rod commented, snickering.

"Look at those legs," Jazz added, his optics roaming over her figure appreciatively as she approached.

"Jazz, may I speak with you…alone?" The femme asked, leaning against the boulder.

"Sure thing, baby doll," the saboteur said, giving Hot Rod a sly wink and a nudge. Nightshade daintily sat beside him in the grass, flicking away a stray blade of grass. The Jazz man was gettin' lucky…or so he thought.

"So, sweetie, what can I do for you?" Jazz's voice had become suave and seductive, and his arm was making its way around her.

"Jazz, it's me. Nightshade," she said, removing his hand from her waist and dropping it into his lap.

"Nightshade? Slag- you ain't one of them transie-bots, are ya?"

"Primus, no. I was just in hiding." And then she went into depth of why she had disguised herself as a male.

"I still can't believe it's you, Nightshade…but. Whatever." His arm was slowly snaking around her shoulders…

"Jazz, watch those hands of yours," she hissed, slapping his hand when it got a little to close too her aft for comfort.

"Can't help it, baby." A disarming smile accompanied his statement. It had no effect on the preoccupied female.

"Whatever. I've got a request to make."

"What is it?"

Nightshade then grinned and began explaining what exactly it was that she wanted to do. The saboteur was shocked at first, but then he gave her a genuine smile.

"I'll see what I can convince Prime to do…besides, it'll be good for morale," he said, a conspiracy-type look on his face.

"Thank you, Jazz," she said, getting to her feet.

Once she had left, Hot Rod came back over and took his spot back.

"So, who was that?"

"A friend of mine," Jazz responded, his blue visor glittering in the moonlight.

"How close are you two?"

"She's off limits, so don't even try. Pit, even I don't have a chance with her," Jazz said, a small frown on his face. Ah, so that was why Mirage was always so protective of Nightshade…and why Ratchet was always with Nightshade…

00000

Needless to say, the knowledge that Nightshade was actually a femme leaked pretty quickly. By the time she had gotten back to the spot where she had been sitting before her conversation with Jazz, pretty much everyone knew. The reactions were varied. Some were funny, like Sunstreaker. He had spit out his energon and stared bug-eyed at Bluestreak for a good two minutes before speaking. Others weren't as pretty.

Some minibots (erhem, Gears) had scoffed and remarked about her actually being one of those femmes "with a more masculine computing center". Mirage, who had been nearby at the time, gave Gears a good kick. Gears did not speak again.

Sideswipe had just shrugged. He had inherently known that something wasn't quite right with the 'mech' and dismissed Prowl, who had been the one to inform him. Prowl had merely accepted the fact without trying to find the logic in it. His computing center would have fizzled out had he tried to find logic. Bumblebee just shook his head and went back to his femme and barrel of high grade. Jazz just had a good laugh. At least someone was having fun. The other 20 odd mechs in the base had reacted in a variety of ways, some laughing and accepting it, others, like Gears, making rude comments.

The 'bots from Nightshade's original crew had known something was…off, but had said nothing, not wanting to hurt the mech. Elita and Chromia had instinctively known about the femme. Hot Rod and Leo were both surprised, but forgot all about their surprise once they got a look at her un-armored aft and chassis.

Things were okay. Not perfect, but Nightshade figured she could deal with Gears and his gang of dissident pals later on, when she had integrated into the base as a femme.

00000

:D

Not too many changes in there, but there's a few.


	7. In Which There is a Misunderstanding

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Acura, Jeep, or anything else with a logo.

Pairings: HoundXOC, SamXMikaela, and… I forget.

Characters: The whole gang.

Rating: PG-13 for mild swearing. :)

BTW, Hound turns into a dark green 2008 Jeep Wrangler Unlimited.

**EDIT: Dividers and such. Nothing much else. :O**

00000

Sam and Mikaela stared up at Optimus, shock clearly evident on their tiny faces.

"You want us to do what?"

"It's simple. You two are the only ones that are allowed to interact with humans on our behalf," Optimus said, a twinge of sarcasm at the end of his sentence.

"Oh…okay…well, how much are we going to need? How many people are invited?"

"Take my credit card-"

"You have a credit card?!" Sam was bug eyed. Since when did this happen? He could just imagine it: Optimus, in a bathrobe and slippers, at his mailbox, flipping through credit card applications…

_Dear Mr. Prime – take advantage of our credit card deal! 8.5 percent APR-_

"Yes, we do. Go buy food for approximately 25 humans for the party. Also buy enough food for about fifteen humans for a month. You and your families will be spending the weekend, am I correct? I will send Hound with you to pick up supplies. Keep it quiet."

"Sure thing, Optimus." Sam looked at the card that had mysteriously appeared in Optimus's palm. It was a bright blue card…with red flames. Sam thus proceeded to make a gesture that humans called a "facepalm".

Sam and Mikaela clambered into Mikaela's non-Autobot vehicle and buckled in. Sam sat in the passenger seat, staring at the card in his hands. Optimus had a credit card. A giant alien robot with a Visa. What on Earth was he doing with one?! This was added to Sam's Long List of Random Questions to Ask.

"Hey, Mikkie?"

"Yeah, Sam?" Mikaela asked, glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure she didn't hit the post behind her.

"I wonder what Optimus uses this credit card for.

"I…don't know…I don't think I want to know," Mikaela said, turning her bright blue eyes to Sam. She could just imagine Prime sitting at his computer, tapping away on his keyboard…jumping from his seat when he wins a bid on Ebay…

"I wonder if he uses it to shop online."

The conversation progressed and evolved until they arrived at the local bulk store. Once they had unbuckled themselves, got out of the car, locked the doors, and waited for Hound to arrive, the conversation had progressed to something like this:

"I wonder what his Ebay username is..."

"How about Boss-Man2007?"

"FlamingTruck?."

"I like the Boss-Man one. Seriously. We should ask Hound."

A hologram fizzled to life in Hound's interior. Sam and Mikaela were too busy pondering Optimus's Ebay name to notice. The Jeep's door swung open and the man stepped out, a confused look perfectly displayed on his aged, weather beaten face.

"Ask me what?"

"Does Optimus have an Ebay page?"

"Of course. Where do you think we got your human furniture?"

Both humans started giggling.

"What else does he buy?"

"Uhm…he buys medical supplies for Ratchet, diesel and gasoline in bulk…why?"

"Ha, I told you he bought normal things!"

Hound just nodded and pretended he understood.

"Go buy the supplies. Optimus said he was going to buy a massive grill for Epps and Lennox to grill to their hearts content," Hound said, confusion in his deep voice, "What is it with human males and roasting the meat of various animals?"

"It's a guy thing," Mikaela said, smiling up at the scarred and strangely handsome man. A long scar ran from his hair line to the bottom of his strong and salt-and-pepper stubble-covered jaw. Bright blue eyes, framed with thick eyelashes and crow's feet, peeked out from beneath black eyebrows. There was a second small scar on his face that ran across his cheek. As he turned to look at the store, Mikaela noticed more scars underneath the black shirt the man wore. Several hieroglyphs were tattooed across his bulging biceps. His jeans hung loosely on his narrow hips and gave the barest outline of his muscular bottom. Mikaela followed the powerful lines of his legs to the bottoms of his jeans, where brown ostrich leather boots peeked out from underneath. A black Stetson was clutched in the palm of one calloused hand, the fingers of the other hand in his back pocket.

Mikaela tore her eyes away from Hound, only to meet Sam's thunderous doe-brown eyes. She shrugged sheepishly and tucked her thumbs into the belt loops of her denim miniskirt. Sam pouted. Even he could admit that Hound's hologram was _hot_, and he was a guy! It wasn't fair…

Mikaela rolled her eyes at Sam's obvious display of jealousy. Then she grasped his hand with hers and they started off to the store. Hound's hologram followed at a slow pace.

"Hey, Hound?" Sam tossed the question over his shoulder.

"Yes, Sam?"

"How long does your hologram last?"

"As long as I'm within one quarter mile of myself at all times, I can maintain this for up to three hours. Any further, and it decreases substantially," Hound answered, his eyes flickering over a nearby blonde woman. The woman dropped the cell phone in her hand and nearly swooned when Hound tipped his hat in her direction.

00000

Lisa stared at the clock over the exit. Two more hours until her shift was over…Just two more hours, and she could go home, curl up with a cup of cocoa, and write. She popped the gum in her mouth noisily, leaning against the cash register. She pulled a nail file from her pocket and started filing away. If she it hadn't been for those poor orphans she was raising money for, she'd be at home right now, doing absolutely nothing…damn.

"Lisa, look," Maria hissed at her.

"Whaddya want?" Lisa said, putting her nail file away. Maria jerked her head to her left. Lisa looked…and almost spit her gum out at the man approaching her cash register. _He isn't a man…he's Adonis! Oh…_ Lisa felt her stomach flip-flop at the disarming smile he sent her way. Her cheeks started flaming red as he started piling food on the conveyer belt, his muscles bulging as he picked up a particularly heavy package. Her breathing became heavy as he came up to the cash register and waited.

"Having a party," she asked, trying to make her voice sound seductive. To Hound's audio receptors, she sounded like she had a sore throat.

"Yes'm," he said, imitating the Texan drawl perfectly. He could sense an increase in temperature and pulse in the female. Her pupils had dilated by almost two millimeters. It was intriguing! The female was starting to emit high levels of pheromones, indicating that she would have liked to mate with his hologram. Intrigued, he wondered what it would be like to mate with a human female.

"That sounds like fun," she said, giving up on the seductive voice. As Lisa alternated scanning and bagging, the handsome stranger would put his stuff on a pallet and make small talk. All in all, Lisa was in heaven.

"So, where are you from," she asked, peeking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. He smiled at her and her knees almost gave out from underneath her. She giggled when he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

"I'm from Texas," he said, placing a hand on the Texas-shaped silver buckle on his belt.

Lisa frowned slightly. She hadn't noticed that before…and she had given him a good looking over as he had approached…Oh well, she probably missed it on her first go-over.

"Oh, really? Do you have a ranch out there," she crooned. Her scanning had slowed substantially.

"Yes, actually. I have almost five thousand head of cattle, 30 odd horses, and a few thousand sheep," he elaborated, winging it as he researched ranches online.

"Oh my, it sounds like a lot of work," Lisa said, batting her eye lashes at him a little.

"It is a lot of work, but it pays the bills for a simple country boy like me," he said, his voice slipping a bit lower. Lisa blushed and giggled. She blushed even redder as she realized that she was trying to scan a bunch of bananas.

"Whoops," she said sweetly, typing in the product code quickly. The conversation progressed a little as Sam and Mikaela brought a second pallet of food.

"I think we're done, Uncle Hound," Mikaela said, taking in the blushing cashier and the smug grin on Hound's face.

"Do you have kids?" Lisa asked, hope in her voice.

"No, ma'am. I'm not married, either," he said, hinting just a little bit. He was enjoying flirting with the woman…no wonder humans liked doing it!

Mikaela frowned as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

_Go retrieve more food._ It was a text from Hound. She rolled her eyes and tugged Sam along with her, saying something about forgetting to buy steak.

"How old are you," Lisa blurted out, pausing to pick up a box of plastic cutlery.

"I'm 46," Hound said, resting his hands on the edge of the conveyer belt.

"How old are you?" He added.

Lisa blushed and said, "35. I'm finishing up my Ph. D research right now. I'm doing community service to raise money for the Northwest Orphanage." She gestured at her brightly colored shirt and her friends at the registers, who were all wearing the same shirt. The females alternated between swooning, blushing, or waving, or a combination of all three as he tipped his head in their general direction.

"Are you going to be a doctor?"

"Yes, a veterinarian and researcher," she said, smiling up at him.

"That's great. We need more people like you out in the world," he almost purred. Mikaela and Sam came back, with a third pallet laden with steak, cereal, Oreo's, ice cream, and other random, non-barbecue related items.

Lisa stared at the pallet and then at Hound. Mikaela shrugged and Sam smirked.

She began scanning the items on the third pallet. So far she had scanned 30 pounds of steak, 75 hamburger patties, enough vegetables to make a vegan sick, fruit, and twelve varieties of chips and chip flavors. That didn't include the refrigerator that they were sticking in their truck, or the fifteen plus crates of soda and 5 kegs of liquid encouragement. This was going to be one hell of a party.

As she scanned the last item, Hound gently placed a pack of gum on the belt, smirking cheekily at Lisa. She stared blankly at the pack of gum, then back at Hound. She scanned it.

"Your total is eight hundred and forty three dollars, and eighty seven cents. Cash or credit?"

"Cash," Hound responded, pulling a wallet from his pocket.

"Prime said to use-"

"Screw what Prime says. I've got money I can use," Hound said, peeling apart a few one hundred dollar bills. Lisa gaped as he counted out the bills. His wallet was fairly over flowing with the bills.

"Five…six…seven…eight…and forty…and here's four dollars. Keep the change," he said, winking. Lisa smiled up at him and recounted the money quickly, and almost squealed when she found a small sheet of paper. It had ten digits on it…and underneath it, in an untidy scrawl, was written: "Call me. The name's Hound."

Maria came rushing over to Lisa's side.

"He gave you his number?" Lisa could barely register the thick Northern-Spain accent coming from Lisa's mouth.

"Yes, he's a hunk, and he's smart, and…he has a ranch! Out in Texas!"

"Sweet, girlie. Ya gonna call him after shift?"

"Uh, yeah!"

00000

Out by Ironhide (who was sent as backup), Hound helped the employees from the appliance area load the refrigerator into the back of "the truck". He lifted one end of the appliance easily while the two men on the other side struggled on their side. Sam snorted as the men shot jealous looks over at Hound, and then over at him. He was holding Mikaela's hand, watching the trio load the fridge up. Then, Mikaela and Sam helped Hound load the groceries into the Jeep and Mikaela's small blue Acura.

Fifteen minutes later found them at the base, unloading the supplies into a side room. Hound transformed and plucked the refrigerator box from Ironhide's bed. Holding it in one hand, he pushed the hangar door aside with the other.

Sam and Mikaela jogged to keep up with Hound, who was taking long lumbering strides to the human area, the large box cradled safely in his hands. Jazz and Ironhide followed them, the both of them carrying the bags.

Mikaela quietly slipped off to her room, locking the door behind her.

She sat down and lay down on her stomach, pulling her laptop out of her bag. She flipped it open and immediately started typing.

Mikaela paused for a moment, as in thought.

Then she started typing again.

Once she arrived at the appropriate website, she began an inquiry of custom made products. _Just how much of this crap does Nightshade need? And what for?_

00000

Jazz handed the plans to the Construction patrol. Grumble and Neutro looked over the scratchy plans and nodded. Takedown began to approximate how much lumber they would need for the project. Jazz began talking to Mirage, who had been in charge of decorations.

Optimus backed his trailer up to the hangar doors. Jazz dropped his digi-pad and ran up to the back. Humans were struggling to unload the giant 44 gallon drums that Optimus had in his trailer. Jazz's jaw almost hit the floor when he got closer. Optimus's trailer was full of _high grade._ Very high quality. Jazz, behind his blue visor, shuttered his optics and sent a quick thank you up toward the sky.

He hurried over to the humans, shooing them away. Bumblebee joined him in stacking the barrels in a corner. "This is going to be one pit of a party," Bumblebee said, grinning at the saboteur. Mirage stacked the last few barrels and locked the door securely. If Sideswipe and Sunstreaker got into the room…there wouldn't be any left for the party.

Three days went by. It was the day before the party. The previous few days had been hectic – the Construction patrol had finished their project with plenty of time to spare, but wiring it had been hell on Wheeljack and Ratchet…and they had enlisted the help of Moon Racer.

Nightshade had managed to talk to Leo a few times, nothing too serious. Now she was walking down the hallway, humming softly. She heard two voices and she turned the corner. Ratchet was standing with Moon Racer…and they disappeared into his quarters. Nightshade turned and walked away, pain nibbling on the edges of her spark.

00000

Mirage opened his door just in time to receive an armful of upset Nightshade. Shocked, he stood still for just a second before he pulled her back and onto his couch.

"Darling, what's wrong?" he asked in hushed tones, rubbing the femme's back. He was surprised when she smiled through her tears, an incredulous quality in her voice.

"Nothing," she said, looking down at her folded hands.

"Uhh…obviously, there's something wrong, sweetheart," Mirage said, embracing her once more.

"I…guess I deserved it," she said gloomily, tucking her head underneath Mirage's chin.

"Deserved what?" he asked quietly.

"…I…developed feelings for someone without thinking it through," she said, her lower lip trembling.

"Ratchet?"

"Yeah," she grunted softly, trying to clear the images of Ratchet and Moon Racer disappearing into his quarters...

"What happened?"

"I…saw something I wasn't supposed to," she said, shuttering her optics. She felt Mirage's arms tighten around her a little. She wondered what they were doing right now…were they drinking? Or had Moon Racer taken _her_ spot on the couch? Or perhaps, Moon Racer was reading a holo-cube. Or maybe he'd already taken her to his berth-here she pushed the unwanted images away and shook her head.

"Like…what?"

"Them two disappearing into his quarters, that's what."

"Oh, Primus…Nightshade…I'm so sorry," Mirage said.

"Can I stay here tonight? I don't want to be alone," she whispered quietly, peering up at her 'older brother' of sorts.

"Of course, Nightshade. You don't even have to ask. What is the saying…mi casa es tu casa."

"Thanks, Mirage," she said quietly, unable to contain the sleepy rev her engine had let out.

"You can take my berth if you'd like. I have to…go run an errand," Mirage said, pulling away slightly. She nodded and curled up on the couch, tucking her arm under her head. Mirage tapped the light switch and watched as Nightshade dropped into recharge. He shut the door firmly behind him, a thunderous look taking the place of the normally haughty look on the aristocratic autobot.

00000

Ratchet sighed softly as he exited his medical bay, giving everything another go over before shutting the lights off. Moon Racer stood just outside of the doors, her arms crossed over her chest plate. She had a look on her face that meant trouble of the painful kind.

"Alright, you useless lump. What's wrong with you?" She snapped, glaring up at the medic.

"What do you mean, Moon Racer?" Ratchet groaned mentally. He couldn't deal with this right now…

"You aren't acting like yourself. There is something wrong with you and I want to know why," she said, a dangerous note in her voice.

"There isn't a thing wrong, Moon Racer. Leave me alone," Ratchet snapped back at her, anger starting to creep into his voice.

"Obviously, there is."

"There's nothing you need to know."

"We used to be best friends, Ratchet. What happened? Have I done something to offend you?" Her voice grew soft and hurt.

"Nothing happened, Moon Racer. I'm not upset with you…I just can't talk about it right now."

"You're lying to me. You used to tell me everything. You were like a brother to me," the light green femme said, hurt in her optics.

"I'm sorry, Moon…I just…"

"Do you want to talk somewhere more private?"

The big red and white mech nodded quietly, letting his head hang as he led her back to his quarters.

00000

Moon Racer settled herself daintily on one of Ratchet's couches and waited. Ratchet sat down heavily in the seat opposite her, ignoring the groan of protest from the metal frame. He sighed heavily and propped his chin in his hand.

"When did this all start," Moon Racer prodded, urging him to confide in her.

"It started all a few days ago…actually when we got news of the shuttle. Right afterwards."

"Who else is involved? Is it one of your friends? What's his name?"

"It's…a she, actually."

"Ooh. Girl trouble? Why didn't you say so?" Moon Racer perked up. _This_ was something that she could help the medic with. Either way, Ratchet had never been good with femmes…he was loud, rude, and callous, and had one hell of a pitching arm. Horror stories about the Hatchet preceded him into other galaxies. Most sane mechs feared him. Femmes? There were a few of them that could march into his office without batting an optic, but the rest of them wouldn't dare go near the medic.

"…it's a bit sensitive."

"Well, keep going. What's her name?"

"Nightshade."

"Nightshade is a she?! Since when?!"

Ratchet explained what had happened to Moon Racer, who in turn, nodded to show her vague understanding. Once he had finished, Moon Racer waved for him to continue his story.

"So, what exactly happened?"

"We were in the command center, talking to Elita, and then right after, she ditched me." The medic sighed and leaned over sideways until his head was leaning on the armrest.

"What did you do before then?"

"Well, I talked to Elita, then to you, and then that's it. I didn't do anything," the medic said desperately, throwing his hands into the air.

"I hate to break it to you, Ratch-batch, but femmes are like that. They won't tell you what's wrong unless you specifically ask," Moon Racer said, drawing her legs up underneath herself. She ignored the caustic glare he had sent in her direction after the use of his childhood nickname.

"It's starting to bother me. We used to be close and now she won't even talk to me," Ratchet said sadly.

"How did you two become so close?"

"It happened a while ago…Red Alert was going on an away mission and he needed to be replaced with a rookie…and he brought me Nightshade. She was too quiet…"

"So...what else did you two do together?"

"Well…we did some research, worked together on some projects…and we skipped work…"

"No way, Ratchet. That's…totally not like you. What inspired you?"

"High grade," the medic snorted. It seemed that high grade was the source of all of his woes…

"Ah, I see. What happened after you two got over-energized?" Moon Racer's CPU processes were whirring away. _If he touched her, Mirage was gonna kick his aft! Then again, Mirage would kick anyone's aft if they so much as _looked_ at Nightshade. Lucky gal has someone looking out for her…_

"We came back to my quarters-"

"You didn't sleep with her, did you?" There was a look of horror on Moon Racer's face. _GAH! I don't need any kind of mental image of him actually _doing_ it!! And with Nightshade!_

"No, not exactly. We didn't…do anything. We sat and photoshopped a picture of Ironhide. She almost went into recharge on the floor, so I told her she could take my berth…she refused and took the couch…but sometime in the middle of the night the environmental controls went out and it got cold in here. I woke up with her in the berth beside me. We didn't do anything," Ratchet explained, leaving out the part where Nightshade had slept on top of him.

"I see…what happened after that?" She let out an inaudible sigh of relief – maybe her friend wasn't as sex-starved as she thought…

"We stayed here and read away."

"You mean you let her read your holocubes?"

"Yes, I did," Ratchet said, rubbing his forehead plate.

"I don't even get to go into your library, much less read your holo-cubes. What makes her so special-oh. OH."

"Oh, what?"

"You like like her, don't you?"

Here Ratchet paused. Now that he actually thought about it…

"I am attracted to her," he finally admitted.

"And that's why you're upset. She's ignoring you and you're finally admitting that you're cranial unit over heels for her," Moon Racer summed up, a victorious sparkle in her optics. _Bah, Ratchet's got a girl on the CPU, who cares if she isn't even half his age!!_

"Basically," Ratchet said, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. He had actually admitted it to himself, and now to his friend…things were going better.

"What happened just before she ditched you?"

"Like I said, I talked to you and Elita."

"You don't think…that…maybe she got the wrong impression of me?" Moon Racer thought. This did sound very much like a case of jealousy…and Nightshade was used to being the only femme around Ratchet…

"What do you mean?" Ratchet was genuinely puzzled. Moon Racer clapped her hand to her face, and after a long second, she pulled it away.

"I think she's jealous."

"Of who? You? That's absurd," Ratchet scoffed.

"Not really, if you think about it. She is used to being the only femme around you. Does she like you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Why haven't you asked, you moron?!"

"No need for name calling-"

"Yes, actually, there is! Here's a chance for you to be happy, and you're just letting it walk away from you? You are abso-bloody-lutely stupid! Go after her and tell her how you feel!"

"It isn't that easy," Ratchet said.

"Yes, it is. You corner her, pour your spark out to her, then kiss her, and then bring her back here and shag her senseless-what's with the look on your face, you loon?"

"You haven't forgotten the oath I swore, have you?"

"What oath? The medic's oath? 'I will do no harm' and all that?"

"Yes, there's more to it... _I will not fall in love with my patient,_" Ratchet recited, his voice quieting at the end.

"Ratch…you've been denying yourself happiness because of that? If that's the case, you're not the smart mech I thought you were."

"Moon, you're really not helping-"

"Ratchet, you have a chance at happiness. Primus knows you need, no wait-DESERVE this. Don't deny yourself happiness and love."

There was a loud knocking at the door.

"Who's visiting at this hour?" Ratchet asked, puzzled. Moon Racer shrugged and watched as he stood and opened his door.

"Oh, hello Mirage, how can I help you-"

**CLANG.**

Ratchet staggered back and fell on his bottom after Mirage's punch landed. He stared up at the blue mech, who was currently glaring back down at him.

"What the slag was that for, you sonofa-"

"**That** was for hurting Nightshade, you slagger, and don't you think that I'm through with you," Mirage snarled, rubbing his aching fist.

"What the frag do you mean?! I didn't do anything!"

"I'm sorry you had to see this, Moon Racer. Good night," he said, inclining his head toward the femme. The disappearance of the mech had her darting over to Ratchet's side to assess the damage done.

"Damn, he knows how to throw a good punch," the medic moaned softly, rubbing his aching jaw.

Moon Racer's response was a solid _thwap_ as her hand met the back of his head. Ratchet gave her a pained look of the whiny kind as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Go fix this, now," she snapped.

00000

I hope I did okay with Moon Racer. She seemed like a feisty one to me. : )

Not much edited here. :P


	8. In Which There is Girl Talk

Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Check previous chapters.

We finally find out what Mikaela has purchased at Prime's request, what the construction crew has built, and a lesson in Cybertronian history.

-

-

-

The sunlight pouring into her room was bright. Nightshade shifted slightly and was mildly disturbed to feel thick plush fabric beneath her. _I keep waking up in random places…_she thought as her computing center finally booted up. It was a couch that she was lying on.

Bits and pieces of the night before were reprocessed by her computing center.

Ah.

She was in Mirage's room.

She stretched and gracefully rose from the couch, scribbling up a quick note for Mirage, who was still deep in recharge. He was snoring softly; his body sprawled out over the entire berth. His knuckles sported some massive dents. _Wonder what he's been up to..._

-

-

-

Nightshade made her way to one of the storage rooms where Prime had stowed away her requested materials. A lone metallic box stood off by itself in the corner, clearly labeled as "Nightshade's stuff". She picked it up and carried it back to her room, intent on seeing if they had gotten it right…

The box was heavy and she almost dropped it twice, but managed to get back to her room without any serious mishaps. She set it on the floor and pried the lid off.

Shoving aside several layers of cellophane and packing peanuts, she came to what she was looking for. Reaching into the box, she pulled out the contents.

Yards and yards of scarlet satin fabric lay on her lap. There were thick ribbons, and several ropes made of ribbon and large silver bells, and long strands of silver coins woven together. There was also a long sheet of silk, both ends weighted down with silver bells. Another sheet of silk could be found beneath the first. The scarlet would contrast nicely with her dark blue paint job. Nightshade smiled. She was going to be on stage once more.

After digging around in her storage for a bit, she found the last of her silver bracelets. She snapped them onto her wrists, feeling the familiar weight and hearing the familiar tinkling noise. She hadn't worn them in so long, she had almost forgotten. She settled in her starting pose, her hip cocked, one leg out in front of her and her hands in the air above her…yes, it was great to be dancing again.

-

-

-

The sun began to set. Mirage had smuggled Nightshade into the room, using his holo-emitter to block her from prying eyes. Nightshade was quickly ushered behind the stage, while Jazz and his band finished playing the song they were playing. Jazz bowed to the audience, relishing in the polite applause.

Nightshade nervously smoothed the silk on her body. A long sheet of silk had been tied around her hips like a giant scarf, knotted in front of one thigh. The bells on the end weighed the ends of the silk band down. The second sheet of silk had been draped over one shoulder. She held the ends loosely in her hand. The coin and bell ropes had been tied over the silk on her hips, like a belt. She stood off to the edge, not visible to anyone if the curtains were to open early. The soft drums began playing, and the curtain rose. A spotlight shone in the middle of the stage, and she came from the side, her hips gyrating to the drum beat. Once in the center, she began putting more emphasis onto the bells hanging off of her hips, shaking from side to side and twisting.

Once she settled into her familiar routine, her nervousness began to subside, and she tossed the veil off to the side. She looked out over the crowd. The humans had been seated in the very front. Sam was leaning forward on his elbows, jaw open. He liked sparkly things, and here was Nightshade, covered in sparkly things... Mikaela was watching intently. The other humans were also impressed with her dancing. That was good – impressing alien races was always a good thing when it came to treaties and negotiations.

By looking into the crowd of mechs and femmes, she could tell who hadn't ever seen a dance before. These 'bots, like Bumblebee and Bluestreak, were engrossed in her every movement, their mouths slightly open. The mechs and femmes that had seen dances before were watching appreciatively. There were a few in the crowd that weren't as interested, probably because they had been teachers or competition judges. Her eyes scanned the audience, seeking someone out. Ratchet was definitely interested in the dance. He was leaning forwards, his optics following her every move. She made eye contact with him and sent him a smirk. He raised an optic ridge at her, leaning back into his seat. She looked around some more, pirouetting. Leo was watching her with a bored look.

The drums began to slow, and with that, she spun around facing away from the audience, and threw her hands into the air, the bracelets on her wrists clinking gently. She began to bend backwards slowly, until her fingertips touched the floor behind her. The lights went out and she immediately straightened up to the sound of thundering applause and shrill whistles.

Another Cybertronian song began playing and she kept dancing away. This time her dance was a bit more energetic and playful as she wrapped the long silk scarf around the neck of a mech sitting just off to the left of the stage, running a hand down his chest plates. She gave him a jaunty wink and jumped back onto the stage, her hips shaking to the beat of the drums.

This melody ended, too, and she finished by bowing. Thunderous applause met her audios.

A third song began playing…except this one was a human one. The scratchy guitar started playing, and she began dancing to it. Jazz and his fellow singers entered from the left, and began singing as soon as the guitar bled into silence.

"_What have you done now?"_

Jazz's soft voice turned the song into something more sensual than the original artist._  
_

Sam perked up. He knew this song!

_  
"I know I'd better stop trying  
You know that there's no denying  
I won't show mercy on you now  
I know, should stop believing  
I know, there's no retrieving  
It's over now, what have you done?"_

Firestar was the lead female vocalist, her low voice carrying over the quiet air._  
_

"_What have you done now!"  
_

Jazz took a quick peek over at Nightshade. She had slowed down considerably and was swaying in the center of the stage.

"_I , I've been waiting for someone like you  
But now you are slipping away ...oh  
Why, why does fate make us suffer?  
There's a curse between us, between me and you."_

Nightshade smiled sadly as she looked over the crowd. Her optics locked with Mirages', and he smiled back at her. As Jazz sang the next verse, his voice faded away to silence in her audio receptors._  
_

"_Would you mind if I killed you?  
Would you mind if I tried to?  
Cause you have turned into my worst enemy  
You carry hate that I don't feel  
It's over now  
What you done?"_

Nightshade sighed gently. She and Jazz stood in the center of the stage together. Jazz began swaying his hips like Nightshade had. He ran one hand down her arm, slowly. Nightshade saw Prowl perk up from the corner of her optic. She smiled for the briefest second. Who knew that Prowl was the jealous kind? Firestar shot a sly grin at Jazz. She and Nightshade began dancing together in the middle of the stage, hands sliding over one another. This earned quite a few wolf-whistles from the mechs in the crowd. Two or three of them excused themselves.

_  
"I , I've been waiting for someone like you  
But now you are slipping away...oh What have you done now!  
Why, why does fate make us suffer?  
There's a curse between us, between me and you…"_

Jazz and Firestar's voices blended, and as she sang the third line, her voice grew stronger and faded. They sang the chorus once more, her voice fading away into silence as the audience clapped. It was quiet at first: the autobots had never heard their kind sing. The humans hadn't ever seen or thought that robots could sing. It was a bit disconcerting, but as they got over their shock, they started clapping louder and harder, a few of the humans whistling their approval.

-

-

-

Ratchet sat in the very back, nearest to the door. He sighed almost impatiently. What was so important that he had to leave the med bay early? There was a stage. The Twins were probably going to do some sort of talent show. He snorted. Sideswipe juggling flaming sticks while Sunstreaker balanced on a unicycle. Now _that_ would be entertaining.

The quiet buzz of chattering silenced once the lights dimmed and the curtains opened. The stage was empty, until the drums started playing softly. Suddenly, Nightshade entered the stage, her hips swaying. Now that was something he could watch forever…

She began emphasizing her hips. He had never noticed it before, but she had wide hips…_wide hips that would be a great place to put my hands…_She began a flurry of twists and turns that had him raising an optical ridge. That kind of flexibility would make sparking very interesting…

Nightshade discarded her veil, revealing her chassis, which had been decorated with tiny rhinestones for the occasion. He felt his arousal start to heat his frame, and he was pretty sure that he wasn't the only one feeling what he was feeling. A few of the other mechs looked uncomfortable, and two or three of them excused themselves for a moment. She sent a smirk his way when he shifted in his seat, and he sent her back the most unaffected, bored look he could muster. She grinned and twirled.

What really got him was her ending. He watched as the femme bent over backwards, her fingertips touching the floor. His optics were about to fall out of his head and his jaw was somewhere on the floor. Interesting indeed.

He excused himself before his body would betray him. He came back just as the next song started. Her dance was flirtatious and playful. Her hips weren't moving as seductively and she was sending cute smiles to all of the unbonded mechs in the crowd. He couldn't help but narrow his optics as she wrapped the end of her long red scarf around the shoulders of a nearby mech, who, in turn, almost dropped his transmission. Then he bit back a snarl as she sent him a sly little wink. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing to him…and he didn't like it. The dance ended quickly and she bowed to the crowd.

The third song started playing. It was a human song. He was surprised when Jazz and three other mechs climbed onto the stage. Jazz took the center beside Nightshade and began singing, his soft voice crooning a seductive little melody. One of the femmes in front of him almost swooned, murmuring something about Primus. Ratchet subtly rolled his optics. Jazz had always been the smooth and suave mech on base, on good terms with everyone (especially the females), and the one that everyone went to when there was a party to throw.

"_I , I've been waiting for someone like you  
But now you are slipping away...oh What have you done now!  
Why, why does fate make us suffer?  
There's a curse between us, between me and you…"_

On the last chorus that Firestar sang, Nightshade locked optics with him, swaying her hips gently. Jazz joined her, running his clawed hand down her arm. Their hips moved in time with each other, and Ratchet felt anger bubble up inside of him. The bubble burst and gave way to complete and utter lust as Nightshade began gyrating with Firestar, their hands roaming over one another.

-

-

-

Jazz left the stage to help finish preparing the food. Nightshade continued rotating and swiveling her hips, much to the approval of the mechs. This dance was the most seductive and inviting one yet. She brought her hands up and behind her head, focusing the attention to her hips and abdominal plates as she slowly moved. The lights were dimmed so that she was the only thing visible on stage. Her movements became more exaggerated as the song progressed.

There really wasn't a point to this dance, just to hypnotize her audience and buy Jazz some food cooking time. As she scanned the crowd, she noticed that Ratchet's optics were much dimmer than everyone else's. She smirked at him and began to teasingly roll her hips back, as though inviting him to come on stage and take her. Nightshade arched her back and rolled her hips forward. She continued when she noticed that Ratchet's optics dimmed a bit more at this display. Finally, after a few more minutes, she stopped and bowed, exiting the stage as the curtains drew shut.

Backstage, Nightshade collapsed against the brick wall. Her knees nearly gave out. Mirage was by her side in an instant, offering a cube of energon. She took a few sips and tried to calm her frayed nerves.

-

-

-

She went back on stage, clutching Jazz's hand in one hand and some other mech's in the other. They bowed together amidst the thunderous applause. Some of the minibots started bringing in the food (plus, all of the alcohol, energon, and high grade) and tables. Brawn and Optimus started loading energon and high grade into one corner. Jazz and Moon Racer began wiring up the sound system. Nightshade decided to leave – she did not want to have to kick Moonracer's aft tonight. Nightshade wandered out from backstage, her hips swaying as she walked.

The humans were currently stuffing themselves silly with all of the food that Jazz had helped to prepare. Currently, the younger humans and the older ones were mingling, but were starting to separate out into two distinct groups. The older humans were in a corner, chatting, while the younger ones were dancing to some of the music. Nightshade watched on in amusement as Mikaela Banes began doing some sort of hip-work for her mate, Samuel. The boy's jaw dropped. Maybe she was trying to get him to mate with her? Judging by the increased pheromone levels that the boy released, it was working.

Nightshade stood beside Mikaela and started mimicking the human girl. Mikaela grinned up at her. They both started shaking what their makers gave them, laughing as all male eyes in the room turned to them. After a few minutes, Mikaela collapsed on the floor, panting. Nightshade took a seat beside her.

"So, Nightshade. How'd you learn to dance like that," Mikaela asked, propping herself up with her hands. She loved dancing and she'd been in ballet since the age of three. Mostly, she danced for fun. There was no way someone like her could be a full time dancer (she couldn't dedicate more than two hours a day to dance, anyway).

"I was built as a dancer. It's my programming," Nightshade responded, a small smile gracing her face plates.

"Nightshade, come get a drink with me, please," Mikaela said sweetly to the femme. Nightshade obliged and stood. They (well, Nightshade walked slowly, Mikaela had to jog slightly) made their way to the drink table. Nightshade grabbed a cube of energon and Mikaela a Dr. Pepper.

"So, why are you so gloomy," Mikaela asked, taking a sip of the carbonated goodness in her hand.

"How do you say….boy trouble, is it?"

"Yes, that's it. Who's bothering you?"

"It's not who's bothering me, but more like avoiding me right now. He's gone and disappeared on me," Nightshade said. They had migrated into a corner with another human female named Maggie.

"Boy trouble," Mikaela said at Maggie's questioning look.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout it. If he doesn't see the gem he's got in front of him, he's blind," Maggie scoffed, picking up her alcoholic beverage. Maggie took a long sip and closed her eyes. This was one of the best drinks she'd ever had… She sent Jazz a thumbs up. He had been the one who made mixed drinks. Jazz gave her a suave, flirtatious grin, and he winked at her, and Maggie giggled.

"He flirts with everyone," Mikaela muttered under her breath, noting the still giggling Maggie and the red flush on her cheeks.

"He's a robot-slut," Maggie said. Nightshade just laughed. What? It was true…

"Anyway, what were you saying, Nightshade?"

"Oh, I don't know…honestly, I don't," Nightshade said, sitting back on her heels while Maggie and Mikaela made themselves comfortable on some nearby high grade barrels.

"Who is it, first of all," Mikaela asked, finishing off her Dr. Pepper.

"Ratchet," Nightshade said simply. She shot the two humans mean looks as they started gagging and coughing on their drinks. Once Mikaela had cleared her airway, she gave Nightshade an incredulous look. Maggie was gaping up at her.

"Ratchet? The crazy one?!"

"He isn't crazy! He's just…grumpy."

"Grumpy? More like psychotic! He threw a wrench at Ironhide when he came online from that last battle!" Mikaela grumbled softly. Ratchet was definitely not someone she wanted to cross…

"He's just showing how much he cares," Nightshade said, a small smile on her face plates.

"What did he do to Jazz, then?"

"He was screaming at him for like, three hours. You could have heard him from outside of the base," Mikaela answered, shuddering a bit at the thunderous tirade that had befallen her delicate human ear drums.

"Poor Jazz…"

"Once he was thoroughly recovered, he put a dent in the side of his head the size of a beach ball," Mikaela added, frowning slightly. Ratchet had learned very quickly after that incident that humans could, however slightly, inflict pain upon him. Mikaela had thrown a piece of equipment, nailing him on the side of his head.

"How _old_ is he, Nightshade?"

"Uhm…I believe he was on-lined at the first turn of Cassius."

"And…in human terms, how old is he?"

Nightshade did some quick mental calculations.

"At least eighty thousand years, by your standards. There has been no record of a Cybertronian dying by natural death. Most have died by our war or by loss of their mate, so I can't really guesstimate a proportion," she said out thoughtfully. "I'm twenty thousand years of age, give or take a century."

"Well, how old is your race?"

"Oh, I'd say at least a billion years. We were created by our creator many, many, _many_ years ago. There aren't any records of the first mechs built. Femmes weren't built until later."

"So it was just guys at first?"

Nightshade paused to look up the reference.

"Yes," Nightshade said, and continued, "anyway. I came of age about ten years ago, while I was still floating in outer space."

"Kind of like me turning eighteen," Mikaela said, taking a few sips of the soda.

"Yes, exactly," Nightshade said, smiling down at the females.

"Elita and Optimus are spark mates, right? How does that work out?"

"Well, we are mechanical beings. We as a race don't fully understand how exactly we know how spark mates work out." Elita and Chromia sat down beside the trio, each one carrying high grade.

"Hello." A chorus of hellos responded to Elita's greeting.

"So what are we talking about?" Chromia asked, settling down beside Nightshade. She popped the top off of the barrel in her hand, and took a sip. Then she winced.

"That's…pretty potent stuff," Chromia said, taking another sip.

"Your compliments to Jazz. He's the one who spiked it," Maggie added, trying to be helpful. She hiccupped and giggled as she finished her drink.

"I'm trying to explain the meaning of bond mates," Nightshade said, "I don't know much, since I haven't bonded."

"Well, you just know," Elita said.

"But…how?" Mikaela still didn't understand…

"Humans believe in soul mates, correct?" At Maggie's uncertain nod, Chromia continued. "Well, our spark is kind of like what you would call a soul. We just know. When I first saw Ironhide, I wanted to drag him into a closet and bond with him right then and there."

"Ew," Maggie said, while Chromia glared at her. "Sorry, but...Well. That explains it. But how does bonding work?"

"You should explain, Chromia. You seem to be an expert in the matter," Elita said, leering at her lieutenant. Chromia glared but smiled nonetheless. At Maggie and Mikaela's questioning looks, Elita elaborated.

"Back when Ironhide was just a lowly soldier, he was stationed in the barracks over us…you could hear those two going at it from three halls over," Elita muttered, glaring at her friend.

"Yeah, until Optimus got the access code to your room. Then you gave me and Ironhide a run for our money," Chromia snapped.

"Okay, that's a little too much information," Mikaela said, covering her ears.

"How about humans? I notice that humans like to mate, yet, few humans actually want to conceive," Chromia said, taking another sip of her drink.

"Uhm…humans mate because…it's great," Maggie said, blushing. She was not having this conversation…

"Oh, I see. Humans can break their bonds, right? We can't do that. The both of us would eventually die. That's why there are so few bonded pairs right now…," Elita said, a sad smile on her face.

"So autobots mate, too?"

"It's called 'interfacing'."

"Heh, interfacing. Niiice," Maggie said, laughing. She finished off the drink in her hand, and gazed longingly at the bar on the other side of the hangar. Jazz was mixing up both human alcoholic drinks and spiking energon with random human alcohols.

"Or overload. It's great."

"Great? It's a _way of life_," Chromia said, staring off with a strange smile on her face.

"Maybe for you, you nymphomaniac," Elita said, grinning cheekily.

"What about you, Mikaela? Do you enjoy overloading with Sam," Elita asked, a sympathetic note in her voice.

"It's okay. Not great, but we can work on that," Mikaela admitted, blushing a little bit.

Maggie just laughed and set her glass down. Then she propped her feet up and looked up at Nightshade. Then she frowned slightly.

"What about you, Nightshade?"

"Er…I haven't…you know," Nightshade said, feeling heat creep up her cheeks. Gasps came from all around her.

"No way, you're gorgeous, babe," Mikaela said, frowning up at the femme. From the stories she'd heard, she would have guessed that Nightshade and Ratchet had done _something_ by now, especially if she woke up in his bed…

"I think Ratchet would be glad to help you with that," Chromia finally said, a dirty little smile on her face.

"Oh, he would most definitely enjoy that," Elita said, grinning at Chromia. Nightshade buried her face in her hands. She should not have told these two…they were probably going to go and run and tell Ratchet to come and show her what she was missing…

"He _did_ teach the spark-sex educational classes. He pretty much knows everything, from self-overload to more than one partner at a time," Chromia said, elbowing Nightshade. Nightshade's optics widened. She didn't know it was possible to have more than one partner at once! That sounded interesting…

"And he is older…"

"And he's a medic…"

"He's high ranking…"

"He likes to read…"

"You're young! Give him a chance!"

"Aww, I could see you now with his sparkling in your arms, the little one clicking away," Elita said, a dreamy look coming over her face plates. Chromia nodded enthusiastically to the mortified Nightshade.

"Yes, you two should go bond right now. I'd love to see sparklings running around once more…your babies would be so cute! But make sure it takes after you," Chromia said excitedly. Nightshade started muttering quietly, trying to block Chromia out.

"It's just not the overloading bit…our race is dying out. Go make some sparklings."

"That's what we have you and Ironhide for, Chromia," Elita said, grinning at her friend. Maggie and Mikaela snorted, trying to envision the spawn of the trigger happy mech and the equally trigger happy femme.

"No, we don't want to unleash his irrationality onto the next generation," Nightshade finally managed to say.

"Hey!"

-

-

-

Dun dun dun!


	9. In Which There is a Catharsis

Chapter Nine:

Hehehe, I'm evil, aren't I?

Note: Screw waiting until chapter twelve for some action, hehehe. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.

-

-

-

The next few hours were spent drinking, talking, and partying. Pausing to catch her breath after a particularly raunchy song, Nightshade decided that she needed to cool herself down. Therefore, the cool foggy outside air would be most beneficial.

She pushed the hangar door open and slipped outside. She welcomed the cool air on her heated frame. Nightshade wandered out into the long grass. The moonlight was bright, casting a blue glow about everything. Silver danced across the blades of grasses. The wind sighed in the trees and died down quickly, leaving only the sound of chirping crickets and the occasional sleepy chirp from a bird.

-

-

-

A pair of optics watched curiously. It clicked softly, its antennae wiggling slightly. It could pick up the strangest noises coming from the autobot base. It could hear loud bass thumping and general party type noise. It jumped in surprise when the door suddenly opened.

It peered from between the trees once its fear had subsided. It clicked again, questioningly when it saw the femme. Its vision started going dark and it scuttled out into the open before it went into stasis lock.

-

-

-

Nightshade was blissfully unaware that she was being watched. She was far too busy soaking in the moonlight. Then she heard the noise of grass rustling. The breeze died down. The rustling noise continued. She gulped quietly and peered back at the base. She had wandered a good half-mile away from the base. She could see a dark shape, about six feet tall at the forest's edge. Then it started moving toward her, and she could see that the creature had a tail that arched forwards over its body. Even from here she could see the jagged remains of the creature's tail, the shards twisting and glinting in the moonlight.

It chirped softly, letting out a soft, electronic whine.

"Hello," she said cautiously, edging back toward the base. It chirped pitifully and its optics flickered once, then twice, before dimming.

She gasped softly and hurried to its side, just as it collapsed onto its stomach. Running a diagnostic scan, she was horrified to discover that the creature was on its last energon reserves. She picked it up the best she could (the thing was longer than she was tall) and started back toward the base.

"Nightshade to Ratchet, medical emergency."

He did not answer.

"Nightshade to Red Alert."

"Red Alert here."

"Meet me in the medical bay. Incoming injuries."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Nightshade went in through a side door (so she wouldn't alarm the humans and bots), panting as the weight in her arms began to feel much heavier.

"Nightshade to Mirage," she gasped out.

"What's up, Nightshade?"

"I'm in the main hallway now. I need your help transporting."

"Uh…okay."

Mirage appeared at her side in less than a minute, concern etched into his features.

"Whoa-what is that thing?!"

"I have no idea, but it's seriously injured. Help me carry it," she said. They carried the scorpion-like creature to the med bay.

-

-

-

Red Alert was running diagnostics on the creature before they even got through the door.

"It's a symbiote," he finally stated, after a few seconds. He hooked the creature up to an energon IV line. He ran a few more scans, and then set it up on continual scans from the med bay computers. Nightshade repaired the singed circuitry in the creature's tail and patched up a few minor gashes. However, the rest of it would was left to Ratchet.

"Red Alert to Ratchet."

"Go ahead." Nightshade growled softly. At Mirage's questioning look, she explained in hushed tones.

"He wouldn't answer my call, even though I said it was an emergency," she said, her optics narrowing.

"Calm down."

"Calm down? You want me to calm down? Red Alert is more than capable of dealing with singed circuitry, or sliced armor, or penetration wounds, but do you think he's as well versed in neuro-circuitry? This poor creature could _die_ there unless he's operated on! That isn't fair to the creature that the chief medical officer isn't even willing to answer someone's distress call, just because he's pissed off at someone-"

The doors hissed open and in came Ratchet, looking confused. His optics narrowed to slits as he saw what was lying on the table.

"_Scorponok_," he hissed, drawing his weapon, "Who's slaggin' bright idea was it to bring a decepticon into the base?!"

Red Alert and Mirage soundlessly pointed at Nightshade in perfect unison.

"You brought it in here? Do you know just how dangerous this decepticon is? You have just caused a major security breach! You should have-"

"Don't tell me what I 'should have done'! YOU should have answered your com! That way, I wouldn't have brought him in here! I would have treated him outside!"

"You think you can treat his wounds? Please, you can hardly hold your temper in check!"

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

Mirage and Red Alert had taken seats on one of the operating tables. Of course, Red Alert was still scanning Scorponok to make sure he didn't go into stasis shock. So far, things were going well for the scorpion-like creature. His energon reserves were starting to fill up slowly, and his major wounds had been taken care of. He could wait a little bit longer. Besides, Red Alert did not want to miss the fight of the century.

"You are the most stubborn and irrational femme that I have ever met!"

"Oh, yes, but of course, Ratchet. I probably will be the only femme that you'll ever meet, because you're an aft-headed jerk that doesn't even know when to quit being rude!"

"Unfortunately for you, that isn't the case, Nightshade," he spat out, a glint in his optic.

"Oh, I don't think Moon Racer counts as a sane femme," Nightshade shot back, her intake systems starting to heave.

"She's not my girlfriend!"

"Oh, so you've gone and dumped her? What happened? Did you lead her on, too?"

"What the slag? I didn't lead anyone on, much less Moon Racer!"

"So says you."

"What the slag are you going on about?!"

"I cannot believe you! You-you are so-" Here she let out a cry of frustration.

"I'm what," he asked quietly, egging her on. Mirage snickered quietly. Ratchet didn't know what he was doing. It was only a matter of time before Nightshade absolutely lost it with him…

"You are the most irritating, stubborn, rude, ANNOYING mech that I have ever met!" She was almost yelling at him, emphasizing each word with a jab to his chest plates. He winced as she poked a sensitive wire and his optics narrowed.

"And you're one to talk! At least I'm not going on and on about NOTHING."

"That brings us back to my point."

"What point? You've been screaming for the past fifteen minutes," Ratchet said sourly, glaring down at the femme. Red Alert snickered. Ironhide would have withered underneath a glare so intense…but Nightshade was only growing more irritated. Mirage elbowed Red Alert gently and whispered, "Wait til she blows up at him."

"Hasn't she lost it already?"

"Nope, that's just the start."

-

-

-

Jazz dropped his mixing cup at the explosion that erupted from just outside the hangar. The music stopped suddenly, the humans and bots looking around in surprise. They could hear two voices, yelling at one another.

"_-the slag you mean? I didn't lead ANYONE on-"_

"_You're a pit-spawned liar, you know that?!-"_

"_You're the one accusing me of doing something that I haven't done-"_

"_You're unbelievable!"_

"_How am I unbelievable?! At least I didn't cause a major breach of security-"_

There was silence for exactly 3.5 seconds.

"_You expect me to have left him outside to die?! What kind of doctor are you?! You're supposed to treat your patients without prejudice! Are your processors addled or what?! Are you really that-"_

Jazz winced and disabled his audio receptors. Hah hah, Ratchet was getting his aft chewed…there was nothing like Autobot drama. The females that were sitting in the corner (Maggie, Mikaela, Elita, Chromia, and Firestar) all started snickering about something. Jazz took a second to turn his audios back on.

"_-and you have the nerve to blame ME for that?! I didn't do a thing! This is your fault, I'll have you know!"_

"_How the slag is it my fault?!?!"_

"_You wouldn't answer your damn com!"_

"_This is what this is all about?!"_

"_YES!"_

A few seconds of silence passed.

"_Don't you dare start laughing at me!-"_

Jazz grinned.

"Aw, Ratchet's gonna get his aft kicked if he started laughing at her," he said, remixing the martini he had dropped. The music was turned back on and the occupants of the room resumed their prior activities…except this time, they wore giant grins on their faces.

-

-

-

Ratchet was flabbergasted by where the argument had gone. First, the breach of security. Then came the whole 'you're-leading-her-on' bit, which stirred _her_ up even more! Nightshade was so angry that she had actually backed him into _a corner_. Then she had berated him for not being a proper medic, and then it had gone back to square one: he hadn't answered the blasted com. How could he have heard her over the slaggin' music?!!

Then he started chuckling at her anger. He couldn't help it. It was just too amusing! Here was a tiny femme verbally abusing him! The chuckles became a roar of laughter and cleaning fluid tears rolled down his face.

"Don't you dare start laughing at me!"

"I can't- ha ha-help it!"

**WHAM.**

Her fist had met his arm, leaving a small dent. However, instead of wincing in pain, his laughter only became more pronounced. Nightshade growled. Ratchet suddenly stopped laughing as Nightshade's optics became watery and she started sniffling. Damn his "aw-slag-she's-crying" subroutines.

"Oh, Primus, I'm sorry, Nightshade," he said, managing to hide the giggles waiting to escape his vocal processors. He wrapped his arms around her gingerly, tucking her head into the hollow under his chin.

"Shh, shh. I didn't mean to hurt you," he soothed quietly, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Her sobs became even louder as he started shaking from the effort to keep from bursting out into laughter. She pushed against him weakly, trying to get free.

"You're s-so meeeean," she wailed, pushing against his chest to get away from him. How dare he make fun of her!

"Oh, shush. Come here," he said, ignoring her attempts to free herself. Nightshade let out an angry noise as she realized that she was squashed up against his massive chest (not that she minded or anything).

He sat on one of the operating tables and hauled her up onto his lap, ignoring her squeals of protest and surprise.

"Now, tell me, _without raising your voice_, what's got you on the fritz," he began gently, his hand absently tracing little circles on her hip. Nightshade sniffled and hiccupped as her intake fans tried to realign themselves (she had thrown one Pit of a tantrum!). Red Alert and Mirage then decided that it would be best if they left at that moment.

Nightshade sniffled once more and sagged against him, cuddling into the heat of his frame. Perhaps this was one of the few things a mech was good for – staying warm, she mused.

"Nightshade?"

"Oh. I…uhm…"

He only sighed absently and let his hand rest on her hip joint.

"I was upset," she said, wiping a 'tear' from her cheek.

"About what?" He prodded gently, flicking away a rogue tear that had been sliding down her cheek.

"You."

He chuckled gently.

"I think I knew that already."

She 'hmphed' and grumbled quietly under her breath. He tilted her head up so that their optics met.

"Why are you so upset, Nightshade?"

Nightshade steeled herself. She could do this…she could do this…she was made of sterner stuff! She was going to do her family proud!

"Do you like me or not?"

"What-of course, Nightshade. What makes you ask that?"

Ignoring his question, she continued.

"Do you **like** me or not? Should I just give up now?"

"Huh? Of course I like you. Give up on what? Your medical training?"

Nightshade made an impatient noise. Sure, he may have been a doctor but slag it if he wasn't processing-retarded in _some_ way. Nightshade grumbled softly and then sighed.

"Are you romantically attracted to me or not?"

"Wh-er…eh…"

Nightshade looked up at him expectantly. However, after a minute or so, he didn't answer. She sighed once more.

"I guess not. I'll see you later," she said, shifting to hop down from the table.

"Wait just a second, Nightshade," he said, grabbing her around the waist once more and pulling her back to where she had been. She huffed.

"What? Are you or are you not?"

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Moon Racer and Mirage were huddled by the door, listening through a busted seal on one of the windows. Mirage was standing, his audio pressed up against it while his chest was pushed up against Moon Racer's back, listening intently.

"Come on, Ratchet, tell her how you feel," Mirage urged quietly. Moon Racer blushed as she felt the warmth from his body radiate. His hand shifted on her back a little. Moon Racer blushed even harder. Shaking her head, she cleared her thoughts out. Since when did _she_ blush like a youngling with her first crush?!

"Are you okay?" She nodded and went back to her spot, trying not to giggle.

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"Ratchet. If you aren't going to answer my question, I should be going," she said, making motions to leave once more. His arms, however, remained firmly wrapped around her waist.

"I am romantically interested in you. However, there is one issue we must discuss before we pursue a relationship," he said carefully, and they both stood up. Nightshade pouted. She had been comfortable right where she had been, thankyouverymuch.

"And that is…?"

"I am merely curious as to why you have been avoiding me this whole time," Ratchet said, crossing his arms over his chest. Nightshade blushed and looked away, suddenly shy and sheepish under his scrutinizing look.

"I haven't been avoiding you…I've been busy."

"Too busy to drop by the medical bay to say hello? Too busy to respond to any of my messages? Tell me, Nightshade, what has you so busy that _you can't stop and say hello in the hallway_?" He was asking quietly and gently, but he was advancing on her slowly, pushing her up against the cabinets softly.

"I…" She felt the cabinet up against her and gulped quietly. If this had been any other situation, it would have been strangely erotic, but…it wasn't right now.

"I what?" His voice was soft and dangerous, reminding her to choose her next few words carefully.

"Uhm…" His hands were casually planted on either side of her, effectively trapping her.

His only response was a raised optic ridge.

"I didn't want to interfere with you and Moon Racer's reunion," she finally admitted, a bitter look on her face plates. Jealousy was starting to rear its ugly head…and now they were at the root of the whole problem.

"Reunion? What, did you think that she was my mate?"

Nightshade nodded.

"Don't assume anything about me," he said quietly. She nodded once more, trying to escape. He wouldn't have any of that and he gently moved her back to where she had been before.

"We aren't finished here, Nightshade," he said, using the fingers of one hand to trace the contours of her cheek plate.

"What else do you want?"

"I also noticed that you've started showing interested in Leo," Ratchet murmured. "Were you trying to make me jealous?"

"Not really," Nightshade responded, getting over her initial shock and then squirming a little under his intense gaze.

"What, then? Why would you pursue him when _you knew_ that I'd already marked you as mine," Ratchet growled.

"Wh-what?!"

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Ooh, what happens next: )


	10. In Which There is Tickling

Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.

Okay, let's get some official business out of the way. I've had a few people ask me questions, therefore I shall answer.

1. Nightshade and Ratchet have not "done the nasty". They won't be doing so for a while.

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2. Their sparks are compatible. That being said, they will eventually bond. Exactly when, I won't say.

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3. Ratchet didn't mark her literally. I meant mark like to tell other guys that she was not available…cos…you know…he's going after her?

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4. Yes, Ratchet is a possessive mech. It's in his nature. (You know, 'his' med bay?)

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5. I never expected this many reviews. (whistles). I hope I've answered a few questions that y'all may have had. :P

Alright. To the story!

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"Shhh, Moon Racer! It's getting good!"

"Mirage, stop squishing me then!" She giggled softly as he brushed up against her again.

"Well, if you'd stop squirming when I'm trying to listen-"

"Shh!"

"You're tickling me! Primus! STOP IT!"

Mirage had brushed his hand along her side, making the femme squeal and jump away from his fingers.

"_Stop it,"_ she hissed, batting his hands away.

"Stop what?" he asked, grinning down at her. He began running his fingertips lightly up her sides, making the femme gasp and squeak. She writhed quietly, trying to get away before her giggles gave them away. He wouldn't let go and only increased the intensity of the tickles.

"Are we going to finish listening or not?" he asked suddenly, his fingers gone from her body.

"What?"

His voice was serious, but there was still a mischievous glint in his optic.

"Are we going to finish listening or what?"

"Uhm, sure," she said warily, trying to keep as far away from the mech as possible. Alas, it was futile, because no matter where she tried to move, he somehow managed to find a way for his hands to always end up in the hollow of her waist, just above the swell of her hip.

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"Excuse me? What makes you think that I am some sort of object to be 'claimed'? I'm not anyone's claim, Ratchet, and you'd do well to remember that," Nightshade snapped, planting both hands on his chest and shoving firmly. Ratchet did not budge. He shot her an amused look.

"You're mine. You'd be wise not to forget that," Ratchet murmured softly, ignoring her spluttering.

"I am not 'yours', Ratchet! What even makes you think that I'd even consider taking you as my mate," she hissed, her optics blazing. He didn't respond. But then he wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her close…and she felt a connection with him…her spark was _singing_ at being so close to him –it just felt so right to be in his arms-

"I'm guessing by the look on your face that you probably feel _our_ connection," he murmured softly, one hand making its way up her spinal relay. She nodded mutely. Now she knew what it was like to be part of another being, though for only a fraction of a second.

"You are my destined mate, Nightshade, and I do not appreciate you trying to make me jealous."

Once she had gathered her wits about her, she started to frown.

"Being with me is not your right, Ratchet. How did you say? 'You'd be wise not to forget that'. You're going to have to work for the honor of being my mate," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. He was momentarily surprised, but didn't back down.

"If that's what you want," he said softly, his voice taking on a serious quality. Nightshade nodded, crossing her arms uncomfortably.

"Do you accept that we are to be bonded…eventually," he asked, once she made no move to speak…or escape.

"Yes, I do," she responded, dropping her arms to her sides and looking up at the grouchy medic, who suddenly, wasn't as grouchy. As the customary frown left his face, he didn't look as old as he was before. He looked…normal.

"Don't think you can parade me around, Ratchet, because I will kick your aft six ways from Sunday-"she started.

She was interrupted by Ratchet's lips on hers, silencing her effectively. Nightshade gasped softly against his lips, and he took advantage of that and slipped his glossa into her mouth. His hand started trailing up her leg, brushing the silk and tracing the patterns the crystals made. Nightshade responded by wrapping her arms around the medic's neck. He lowered his head so she wouldn't have to stand on tiptoe and deepened the kiss, massaging her glossa with his, mapping out every contour of her mouth. Then he placed a chaste kiss on her lips and moved down to her neck, nipping softly, and gently nudging her head to one side for easier access.

Nightshade let out a soft breathy moan as Ratchet's mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of her throat. His glossa dipped into the seam in her armor there, gently teasing the wires that lay below. She clutched his shoulders, her knees almost giving out. He gave out a soft chuckle as wrapped one arm low around her back, supporting her. She tugged his head down for another kiss. This time she wasn't as shy and started nibbling on his lower lip. He responded by using his fingers to map out the smooth curve of her back. Nightshade's hands began exploring the seams in his chest armor, pinching a few wires, which earned her a low, throaty moan from the medic.

Ratchet's hands drifted lower, brushing aside the silk that covered her leg. He began rubbing her hip joint softly, pushing a knee between her legs. Nightshade felt like her spark was going to explode out of her chest when he brushed against her. Both of his hands started untying the bell and coin belt around her hips. With a soft tinkling noise, the belt hit the ground. The noise jarred her from her foggy, lust-filled daze.

"Ratchet, stop."

"Hunh?" He mumbled, biting her neck gently.

"Stop."

He complied, backing away a few inches.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't hurt me…it's just…a bit soon for me."

He backed off, although he did so with a curious look on his face.

"Ah…I've…never…" She sheepishly rubbed the back of her head. It really wasn't that she hadn't tried…but…mechs hadn't been interested in a youngling like her…well. At least she was of age, now.

"Oh…_oh._ I…see. I'm very sorry, Nightshade. You should have said something. I didn't want to rush you into anything…now I feel like I've taken advantage of you, I'm so sorry, Nightshade, will you forgive me?" He was babbling, and he knew it.

"Ratchet, it's okay. Just…let's take it slow. Let me get used to you and we can…continue later on," she said, stroking the side of his face gently. He nodded and gathered her in his arms, holding her close. She hesitated, but sank into his warm embrace, relishing in the fact that his spark was beating for her and her only.

Some time later, he nudged her gently.

"We should be going. Mirage and Red Alert must be worried," he said, leaning down for another quick kiss. She moaned softly and pulled away, her intake filters hitching as his fingers found a one spot at the base of her spinal relays. He smirked and filed this little tidbit of information away.

"One more thing. When are we going to announce this to the base?" he asked quietly, a slight twinge of hope at the end of his voice.

"How about…right now?" she asked, smirking mischievously at him. He grinned back at her. Ratchet could feel his spark swell almost to bursting. He was so _happy_… and he was forgetting something important.

"Nightshade? We're forgetting something," he said quietly, rubbing the side of his head.

"Oh. OH. The little scorpion creature," she said, turning. The creature was completely out of stasis and watching curiously. It warbled pitifully, cringing as Ratchet approached.

"He's nothing without Blackout," Ratchet murmured softly, reaching his hand out to the scorpion.

"What is he?"

"He's a symbiote. He was partnered to a mech named Blackout-"

At the mention of his old master's name, the scorpion looked up, chirping hopefully.

"He's gone, Scorponok. He was taken out during the battle."

The creature went limp and settled onto its stomach. Its pincers settled onto the table quietly. The creature let out an electronic whimper. Nightshade let out a soft 'aww' and went closer. Ratchet's arm shot out, effectively stopping her from interacting with the scorpion.

"We don't know if he's still dangerous or not," Ratchet warned. Nightshade clucked unhappily, ducked under his arm and approached carefully. The creature backed away.

"I won't hurt you, Scorponok. Please come here so I can see to your injuries," she said quietly, spreading her hands palm up out in front of the scorpion. It hesitated and edged closer to the femme and chirruped softly. He finally got close enough for Nightshade to lay a hand on him.

"I'm going to give you a sedative, okay? You'll be in stasis for a few hours," she said quietly, picking up the syringe. Scorponok shook as her hand approached. Nightshade sighed softly. How could such an ugly creature be so...cute? Scorponok stiffened when the syringe was inserted into one of his energon lines, but soon went limp, his little red optics winking off. Ratchet strapped Scorponok down onto the table and wired his pincers shut. Nightshade uploaded a message telling the scorpion not to worry, that he was restrained for safety, and that she would be back in a few hours.

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Before they went back to the party, Nightshade retrieved her belt and tied it on, although a bit crookedly. Once there, Ratchet said, "I think Chromia wants to speak with you. She's waving at you."

"Oh, I see her now."

"Do you want me to walk you over there?"

"Sure thing," Nightshade said, smiling at her soon-to-be lover. He placed his hand on her lower back, gently guiding her to her friends. She smiled shyly up at him and he excused himself after greeting the other ladies…and stealing a kiss. What a perfect gentle-mech. Nightshade sat down beside her friends. Maggie and Mikaela grinned up at her. Maggie shot her a thumbs up, swaying slightly where she sat.

"What?"

"So, where'd you disappear off to?"

"Did you two kiss and make up?"

"We've decided to…how do you say…date."

Elita squealed happily. Ratchet needed some love, too. Just because he was grumpy in the med bay didn't mean that he was always grumpy. Being with a femme would soften his rough edges…

"Elita?"

"Yes?"

"You've got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The look you always get when you're plotting something devious."

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Oh noes! What is Elita planning? And…what will happen between our fave medic and Nightshade? And what's this I hear about Mirage and Moon Racer, getting touchy-feely in the hallway?!

My head hurts. :(


	11. In Which There is Discipline

Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. However, I do own Nightshade.

Yeah, I love my reviewers. :D

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The weeks went by quickly for Nightshade. When she wasn't with Ratchet (reading, talking, or helping in the med bay), she was usually helping Elita and Chromia with repairs or training. In her off time (which was extremely rare), she usually was with her gang of friends. In the love department things were progressing slowly, but Ratchet was happy nonetheless. (Besides, they'd be bonded soon, and it wouldn't matter after that.) Scorponok had been reformatted with a non-lethal, non-weapon tail, but allowed to keep his pincers. So far, he was treated with mild indifference (after all, Barricade and Frenzy were in the midst of defect talks with Optimus). Things were going absolutely perfectly…

As Nightshade approached the medical bay, she heard yelling (mainly from Ratchet), cursing (also, mostly from Ratchet), two thuds and a crash. She broke into a jog and peered into the doorway cautiously. The medical bay looked like it had gone through a hurricane. There was absolute _chaos_ wherever she looked.

There were mini-bots carrying I-beams and tools and wood every which way, and there were piles and piles of supplies every where she could see. Ratchet was standing off to one side, rubbing his head and muttering quietly. As she approached, she could hear what he was saying.

"I am a medic. I will do no harm. I will not off-line the mini-bots."

"Ratchet," she asked quietly. His optics flashed on.

"Nightshade, how are you?" He gathered her into his arms and greeted her with a warm kiss. Pulling away gently, she surveyed the mess. Scorponok was in the roof beams, hissing like a cat down at the chaos. Scorponok did _not_ like the minibots in _his_ living areas. Neither did he like disorder. The little scorpion reached down slyly with one clawed arm and picked up something…

"What's going on?"

"Optimus decided to expand the medical bay. Without telling me first." His voice had gone from warm and caring to cold and scathing by the end of the sentence. She chirped softly to him and cuddled into the thick armor that covered his chest. He sighed gently and nuzzled her neck softly, seeking comfort.

"What the slag are you staring at, Gears? Get your aft in motion before I reformat you into a leaf blower," he snapped, glaring at the minibot. The minibot in question nearly dropped what he carried in his hands as he scurried out of the medic's throwing range. Scorponok had somehow managed to grab a tool with one pincer and he dropped it onto Gears's head, making the minibot squeal in pain.

Ratchet smirked sadistically up at the scorpion.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, Scorponok," he said, giving the creature a thumbs up. Scorponok chirped happily, glad to have been able to please Ratchet AND get some violence out of his systems at the same time.

"Oh, be nice," Nightshade murmured, tracing little circles on his armor. He gave a low purr of approval, his hand sliding down to her hip, the other reaching down to cup her aft.

"Nightshade, that is _very_ distracting…"

She gave him a wicked grin before speaking.

"So what is Optimus adding?"

"Slag if I know."

"Language, Ratchet. There's a youngling present," she murmured, watching as Bumblebee approached.

"He's got a filthier mouth than I do!" Ratchet exclaimed, pointing at the minibot. Bumblebee shrugged. He knew it was true…

"I better not hear anything like that escape your vocal processors," Nightshade said, glaring at the smaller bot. Bumblebee shrugged and gave her the 'wide-baby-blue-optics" routine. It had no effect on her.

"That is not going to work with me, Bumblebee."

He 'hmph'ed unhappily and shrugged his shoulders, turning to pick up some equipment. The med bay doors hissed open. In stepped Optimus, his optics taking in the level of chaos.

"Just the mech I wanted to see," Ratchet growled. "Nightshade, I'll be back in a breem. I need to have a 'chat' with Optimus."

Ratchet started walking toward Optimus, a frown on his face. Once he reached the leader, he tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ah, Ratch-"

"Why on Cybertron are all these minibots in here, in MY medical bay, tearing the place to bits?! I have no way of treating my patients in a sterile environment, thanks to this lot! What the slag are you doing and why haven't I been notified?!"

"Oh."

"_Oh?_ Is that all you have to say?!"

"You didn't get the message?"

"Obviously not," Ratchet spat out at his leader, "You've got some explaining to do."

"Ratchet, I'll go get the data pad and have Jazz deliver it-"

"Oh, no you don't," Ratchet snapped. Optimus had tried to duck out of the medical bay, but Ratchet had grabbed a hold of one of his distinct helmet antennae, giving it a firm tug. Now Ratchet was using the grip he had to drag Optimus into one of the examination rooms.

"OUT," Ratchet said loudly, scaring a minibot out of the room. He ignored Optimus's vague declarations of pain and protests.

"I'm Prime, you can't drag me around like this…!"

"I'm CMO and I can weld your sorry aft to the ceiling!"

"But-but…I've got rank!"

"I've got a welder and I'm _not_ afraid to use it, slagger!"

"You're hurting me!"

"I'll do worse if you don't stop your whining-"

Here the door slammed shut, the nearly-sound proof metal cutting him off. Nightshade stared after Ratchet and Optimus. There was almost a breem of silence before she heard Ratchet's voice from behind the door. Scorponok looked down at her, chirping questioningly. Why was Big Red Grumpy gone? She wondered just how loudly he was shouting to be heard past the door. Another breem passed and out came Optimus, looking haggard.

"Don't ever remodel my med bay without my consent again! You hear me?!"

Ratchet was leaning heavily against the door frame, his intakes heaving. Nightshade shook her head and hurried over to his side. If he kept doing that he would short his circuits out…

"Sweetie, calm yourself," Nightshade murmured, wrapping her arms around Ratchet's waist and nuzzling his chest softly. At her sweet touch, he sagged into her embrace.

"He is so infuriating."

"I understand, but you're going to short yourself out if you keep getting angry like this," she admonished gently, rubbing her hands over his tense frame. He nodded, leaning his weight onto the wall and pulling her into his arms. His intakes finally slowed to normal.

"Thank you, love," Ratchet murmured, rubbing her back softly.

"I've got to go, Ratchet. My shift with Elita is in-Primus! I'm late!"

She yelped and started panicking. Ratchet chuckled and stole a kiss, wrapping his arms around the femme. She gave a soft purr and began nipping at his lower lip, forgetting that she had an important meeting. Five minutes later, things had progressed. Ratchet had his hands on her hips, hoisting her up and pinning her against the wall. She had both of her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him passionately, hands slipping down his chest plates. Her optics flashed on and she started squirming and pushing at his chest. He let out a soft disappointed whine and let her down.

"Hands off, Ratchet. I've got to go and meet with Elita," she said, batting the rogue appendages away.

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Nightshade trotted up the hallway to Elita's post, trying to be only moderately late. She skidded to a halt in front of the doors and knocked gently. No response.

She knocked again. No response. She vaguely heard noises. Looking around, she pressed her audio to the seam in the door and listened carefully.

"-_Oh, Optimus!-_"

"_Elita!"_

Nightshade squeaked and back pedaled away from the door as quickly as she could. Her day had been going so splendidly, it had been like a meadow lark, soaring happily across a sunshine filled meadow…and now the bird was dead. Kaput. Shot-down-with-a-fraggin'-flamethrower and roasted in flames dead.

"What's wrong, Nightshade? She and Optimus in there?" Chromia had come out of her office. Nightshade only nodded, trying to delete the noises she had heard.

"Watch this," Chromia said quietly, a mean little smile on her face.

"Chromia to Prowl."

"Prowl here."

"I'm in front of Elita's office. She's in there but I can't get in touch with her. I'm hearing strange noises, and I'm worried," she stated, trying to sound frantic. It came out as devious.

"I'm on my way. Prowl out."

Chromia snickered and said, "I hope he brings the whole security team." Nightshade giggled and stood back to watch the action. It took Prowl and his gang of three security mechs less than two minutes to arrive. The three bots each had a rifle. Prowl was empty handed. He approached the door, motioning the females away. He pointed to one side of the doorway. Two of his men went to the other side.

Prowl typed in the override code for the door. The doors hissed open.

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Elita only called Optimus into her office to get a report from him. Honestly. But once the door had hissed shut behind him, the look in her mate's optics meant that he had different plans for her.

And that was why she was now sitting, legs wrapped tightly around Optimus's waist, clutching his shoulders and wondering how the Pit he managed to get her in the aforementioned position. Optimus had her hips in a death grip, voicing his pleasure _loudly_ as he thrust his chest hard against her. She started whimpering when the familiar 'critical level' messages heralded her overload.

They were only vaguely aware of the fact the soft beeping that indicated a code being typed in.

Elita screamed Optimus's name just as the door opened, Prowl and three security guards holding rifles. Chromia and Nightshade were in the background, laughing hysterically. Her climax suddenly fizzled out as horror replaced the pleasure in her spark.

"GAH…slag…" Optimus never thought he would ever hear such an ineloquent statement come from his tactician. Normally he was cold and indifferent, but now he only looked disturbed.

"Unless interfacing with my mate is a crime, I suggest you get out," Optimus snarled, not even having the decency to look embarrassed. Prowl only made a strange noise and turned around stiffly, shutting the door behind him. Optimus then turned back to his mate, shifting her so that he would have easier access to her spark. Elita was angry…she had been robbed from one amazing overload.

"Now, where were we?"

Maybe not, she thought, as Optimus continued their activities with a renewed vigor.

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Chromia had never laughed so hard before in her life. Warning messages flashed across her vision, warning her that her core would overheat unless she got some oxygen into her filters. But it was so damn hard to even think about taking in air with the image of Prowl's face fresh in her computing center. She slid down to the floor, screaming with laughter and pounding the floor with one fist. Nightshade held her hands over her mouth, suspended somewhere between absolutely revolted and hysterical laughter.

Prowl snarled at Chromia.

"That-that was the most disturbing thing I have ever seen. Chromia, you are sentenced to 6 hours in the brig, in accordance with page 134, paragraph 45 of the Book Of Codes as instituted by the lord high protector of our city, for blatant abuse of security. Nightshade, you as well."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're at the scene of the crime," Prowl said, growling, "Now get to the brig before I make it two days."

"Slag-tard," Chromia muttered, offering Nightshade her arm. Both femmes chatted amiably as they walked to the brig.

Once in the dark and gloomy chamber, he opened the door to one cell and motioned for Chromia to go in. The next cell was reserved for Nightshade. Once both femmes had been put in separate cells, Prowl stood back, a nasty glare on his face. The room they were in was dark and cold. The air was rank and smelt of cabbages and old socks, and there were sheets of mold growing on the walls. Water dripped from the ceiling.

"Your punishment begins now. You will be released in exactly 6 hours. You are not to use your communicators unless it is an emergency," Prowl said, standing back. Okay, maybe his punishment was a bit harsh, but…those two evil femmes deserved it! He did not want to know what his boss's reproductive bits looked like, nor what Elita's looked like! Once Prowl had left the room, both femmes dissolved into hysterical giggles. They may have been locked up for 6 hours, but it was worth it.

"Primus, that was the funniest thing I'd ever seen in my life! Aside from that picture of Ironhide…"

"What about Ironhide?"

"Well, you remember when I got over-energized with Ratchet, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well, we…used a human program called "PhotoShop" to alter his image…"

"What did you do to him," Chromia asked, a grin starting to spread across her face. It wasn't that she didn't love her mate, she honestly did with all of her spark, but his aft-headed attitude sometimes did mean that he deserved some abuse.

"We painted him pink," Nightshade said, grinning. Chromia responded by snorting and bursting into gales laughter.

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Cliffie! Well…kinda.


	12. In Which There is Love for Chromia

Chapter Eleven:

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.

Chromia gets some love in this chapter. :D

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"Ratchet to Nightshade."

No response.

"Ratchet to Nightshade, please respond."

No response. Ratchet was puzzled. Why wasn't she responding? Maybe she was busy...but she'd said that she was going to go on shift...

"Ratchet to Nightshade, please respond."

No response. What if she was hurt? What if she'd gotten injured on shift, fallen unconscious, and was currently dying?! What if she'd been kidnapped?!!?

"Ratchet to Prowl."

"Prowl here." Prowl was surprised by the mild urgency in Ratchet's voice.

"I can't get in touch with Nightshade. Have you seen her?"

"Actually, I did."

"Where was she?"

"She and Chromia are in the brig."

"WHAT?!!?!"

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"Why the slag did you put her in the brig?!"

"A femme has no place in the brig, you bit-brained-"

"If they did to you what they did to me, you'd understand," Prowl snarled at the two advancing mechs, holding his ground. A silly move, on his part. He could have taken Ratchet on his own, if he had disabled Ratchet's saw, and maybe Ironhide if he got enough of a head start on running, but there was no way he would have been able to take both of them on at the same time.

"What, pray tell, did Nightshade do to you?"

"And Chromia? What did she have to do with this?"

"She called me to Elita's office with some cock and bull story of a breach in security and I open the door and there's Optimus and Elita, on her desk, going at it!"

"…slag. Sorry," Ironhide said, his anger momentarily forgotten as the statement brought up files he thought he had deleted. He, too, had caught those two going at it like younglings interfacing for the first time…in six different places.

"That's still no reason to put either of them in the brig!"

"Yeah," Ironhide agreed, nodding at Ratchet.

"They'll only be in there for a few hours, so calm your processes," Prowl said, glaring at Ratchet.

"She's my mate and if there's any problem whatsoever, you come to me. You got it," Ironhide snapped, his temper starting to get the best of him. His arm cannons started up with the familiar whine and crackle of electrical discharge. Optimus walked around the corner just in time to see Ironhide take aim.

"What's going on here? Ironhide, put your cannons away," Optimus said, one optic ridge raised. Prowl's nasal plate crinkled in mild disgust. The images were trying to break down the mental barriers he had built to protect his logic chips.

"He put Nightshade in the brig!" "He put Chromia in the brig!"

Both mechs exclaimed their protests at the same time.

"Tell him to take her out of there-"

"It isn't fair-"

"She's not built for that kind of cold!-"

"I'm going to kick his aft!-"

Optimus held his hands up to stem the protests coming from both of the enraged males. Ironhide was pissed; anyone messed with his femme they'd have to deal with him…

"What Chromia and Nightshade did was wrong and embarrassing, to Elita, Prowl, and myself. They deserve to be punished. However, they should not have been put in the brig in the first place without telling you first," Optimus said, sending the tactician a mild glare.

"How long is their punishment?"

"Six hours, sir."

"It has been shortened to three hours now."

He ignored the protests from the three of them.

"I could either leave them in there for the full six hours or I could let them go."

A chorus of 'Yes, sir's answered him.

"Now, Prowl. The next time you have a problem with Chromia, you will get Ironhide and come to my office. The same goes for Nightshade. However, Prowl, you will retrieve Mirage. Do you all understand?"

A second chorus of 'yes, sir's answered him.

"Good. Now, to your posts, the lot of you."

The mechs scattered, although grumpily and unhappily.

-

-

-

"Chromia, I'm freezing," Nightshade whined, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to warm herself. Chromia blinked in confusion. She couldn't feel the cold…

"I'm not cold," Chromia said, flopping back on the uncomfortable berth and propping her legs up against the wall.

"You can't because you're wearing all that armor! I'm just wearing the basic stuff," Nightshade said, curling up into a ball on her berth. Two and a half hours had passed, and she was feeling abso-fraggin'-lutely miserable.

Another half hour passed in silence. The doors hissed open and in came Prowl, followed by Prime, then Ratchet and Ironhide.

"All right, ladies. Your punishment is up," Prowl said, typing in the override code and stepping back. The bars on the cells separated out of the way. Chromia rushed out of her cell, throwing her arms around Ironhide. Nightshade shuffled out of her cell and wrapped her arms around Ratchet, trying to escape the cold.

"Primus, you're freezing," Ratchet said, taking her into his arms and trying to warm her up the best he could. Chromia gasped and rushed over to his side, placing a hand on Nightshade's back.

"She needs a hot bath-no, Ratchet, you won't be the one bathing her," Chromia said, taking the femme in her arms and leading her to the doors.

"But-"

Ratchet was left standing stupidly in the middle of the room. What had just happened?

"Don't worry. Chromia will take good care of her," Ironhide said, clapping Ratchet on the back.

"But…"

"Awww, is the Hatchet worried about his wittle femme?"

"Shut yer slaggin' mouth before I give those pictures of you to the twins," Ratchet snapped. Ironhide only grumbled and glared at the medic.

-

-

-

Chromia opened the doors to the washracks, guiding the femme inside.

"Hey guys…ooh, what's up with Nightshade?"

"Hey chickas!"

Maggie and Mikaela were currently enjoying the hot tub installed especially for the humans. Chromia waved back and shoved Nightshade under a jet of steaming hot cleaning fluid. The warmth hit Nightshade like a train and she started shaking as her systems started melting the water frozen in her lines. Chromia then pulled Nightshade into the water, helping her peel off her light armor. Chromia then tossed the pieces of the femme's armor into a nearby scrubbing rack. Nightshade purred as she sank deeper into the fluid, soaking in the heat. Her shell was so warm now... Chromia sat down on the edge of the pool, dragging a bucket with her. Filling it with the warm fluid, she dumped it onto Nightshade. The femme squealed softly.

"Now that you're warming up, stay there until I'm done scrubbing whatever it was in the brig out of your shell," Chromia ordered, standing. The doors to the washracks reopened, and Chromia peeked around the privacy screen warily. It was Elita and a few other femmes. She sighed in relief. Girl time! They all made themselves comfortable in the pool, after taking off their armor. Chromia joined the femmes in the pool. Nightshade was sitting in the corner, almost up to her audio receptors in the heated fluid.

"Nightshade almost froze her aft off in the brig. I thought she would enjoy a nice, hot bath," Chromia said, stretching out in the blissfully hot fluid.

"Aw, you poor dear. Prowl is such an aft head," a purple femme said, scrubbing herself down with a large brush.

"What did y'all do?" asked Mikaela, scooting over to the edge of the jacuzzi. Nightshade and Chromia took one look at one another and started laughing hysterically.

"They are forbidden to speak of it," Elita snapped, glaring at the two females. Chromia settled in the tub, flicking fluid at Elita.

"Remember back on Cybertron, how we'd all gather up all the younglings and sparklings and we'd all bathe together?" Elita asked sadly. The cleaning pool looked so empty with just them in it... The femmes nodded, their minds wandering back to when Cybertron had been peaceful and golden…

"Remember little Bee's first time in the pool?"

"He was too adorable! He was clinging to his creator like a raft!"

"And when she finally scraped him off he threw a tantrum that blew out one of the guard's audio receptors."

"Poor dear…remember when Jazz was younger, too?"

"He always shoved the little ones in the cleaning fluid."

"Such a charming young one," an older femme snickered, "You and Chromia were still younglings when he did that…and when he shoved Ironhide into the water? You almost drowned Jazz…then again, Ironhide would have flayed little Jazz had he known that it was on purpose." The femmes snickered. The little black bot had been trying to impress Chromia, even at such a young age…and along came the tiny bundle of silver. The 'little angel' as his creators called him, curled up underfoot. Ironhide, not wanting to step on the little one had opted to belly flop into the bathing fluid.

"So, Nightshade. How are things between you and Ratchet going?"

"They're going along just fine."

"Guess what, girls," said one orange femme.

"What?" A few femmes had been paying attention.

"Firestar's found her another mech."

"Who?!"

"_Leo._"

"She's been pursuing Leo? Nice choice," Elita said.

"Mmm…he has a nice aft," Chromia purred.

"He's smart, good-looking, and _rich_…but…"

"Uh-oh, the fatal flaw…"

"He is a complete aft-head to every femme. He believes that a mech should have absolute authority over _everything_, even sparklings," Chromia said, a low growl starting in her voice.

"Uh…How does it work out for you guys?" Mikaela had abandoned the jacuzzi and sat on the side of the cleaning fluid pool. She dipped her toe in and immediately withdrew it. She may have not been a doctor, but she did know that her skin was not supposed to tingle that way.

"Things used to be so much more different before the war. We used to have separate roles…for example, mechs and femmes are equal in the eyes of society and law, but there are so few femmes that decide to work outside of the home, that mechs end up providing for us anyway…our bonding vows even say that a mechs purpose was to protect and provide for his femme and her sparklings."

"What about you? What did femmes do before the war?"

"A femme was the caretaker of the family unit. She had absolute authority over the home and any sparklings she may have borne. Nowadays...unbonded femmes have to provide for themselves, instead of depending on her mate or bonded. It's very difficult, because most femmes aren't trained to fight or do work around a base like this. We are lucky. We've been trained for the most part. Most femmes were trained as instructors. In fact, femmes were the only instructors in education centers unless a youngling decided to go to the military academy. The other femmes were dancers like Nightshade or attendants in nurseries, or medical officers."

"You forgot dolls," Chromia said, raising one optic ridge.

"What are those?"

"They…ah…are what you would consider prostitutes."

"Oh."

"Moving on," Elita said, waving away the cloud of gloom that had descended into the area, "I'm hoping that we have younglings on the base once more. I miss them terribly."

"Why don't you ask your mate?"

"Bah, he hasn't got the lug nuts to take care of a youngling," Chromia said darkly, "but he sure doesn't mind the activities that _could_ result in a sparkling."

Maggie just rolled her eyes, got up, and went to get something to drink out of a nearby cooler.

"Males," she said simply, popping open a can of soda.

-

-

-

Chromia finished drying her armor off and snapped it back on, relishing the feel of squeaky clean armor. She yawned and ambled down the hallway to her and Ironhide's quarters. She typed in the code and went inside, stretching her limbs as she did so. The room was dark and she sighed darkly. That bit-brain had left the light off, _again_.

She wandered around, feeling for the light switch, when all of a sudden, a pair of arms wrapped around her. She squeaked.

"Hello, darling. Did you enjoy your bath," Ironhide's voice was a low growl in her audios, and it sent a wave of anticipation through her frame. This was a first. He was usually spent with just one or two overloads…

"I enjoyed it very much," she responded, feeling her frame heat up with her arousal. Maybe he'd be up for a few more overloads tonight… His arms tightened and he began nibbling at the armor on her shoulder while dipping one of his hands down in front.

Chromia mewled softly as he began massaging her pelvic joints, tweaking the lines to her interface unit.

"Ironhide," she breathed out, tugging him toward their shared berth. Ironhide followed, eagerly.

Chromia was an extremely happy femme that night.

-

-

-

Chromia staggered into the astrometrics lab the next morning, a cup of energon in one hand and a data pad in the other. Elita looked up from the star chart she was reading and analyzing. Then she smirked as she took in the dazed look on her friend's face.

"Long night?"

"You have no idea," Chromia said, a tired but content smile/smirk crossing her face.

"Damn, girl. I wish Optimus had that kind of endurance."

-

-

-

So. Yeah. Woohoo!


	13. In Which There is Trouble

Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. I only own Nightshade.

Eh, some political jargon…and an actual plot appears!

-

-

-

Optimus sat at his desk, unable to compute what it was that he was looking at. A human satellite had picked up some rather interesting thermal activity going on in the northern states and monitored for a few hours. The satellite had transmitted four terraquads of pictures and videostream files before it was forcibly jammed. The human's attempts to fix that satellite were going nowhere fast. Optimus rebooted his software to make sure that he wasn't seeing things.

The first picture was slightly blurred. There wasn't much to it except a glint of metal.

The second picture was clearer after the satellite had rebooted and used higher resolution optical software. The glint of metal was now discernable from the rock and scrub surrounding it. There were glints of metal all around the clearing, which was full of metal itself. The satellite had switched over to thermal scans then, to complete the third picture.

The third picture was what had his computing center on the fritz. There, in the middle of a clearing in northern Washington, was a caravan of transformers. He didn't get it. How could Starscream have reached recruits, convinced them to fight for him, and smuggle them back under the potent military surveillance without a single blip on any radar, world wide? And, speaking of surveillance, how had they gotten past the Autobot grid?

Starscream was standing to one edge, his arms crossed. In front of him stood his posse of seekers: Thundercracker, Skywarp, Thrust, and Dirge. Ravage was sitting off to one side, his nose in the air. Soundwave was sitting beside his casseticon, one hand resting on its head. The other casseticons were nowhere to be seen or detected. Astrotrain took up an entire side of the clearing, leaving little room for Cyclonus. The five mechs that made up Bruticus were scattered across the clearing. What made the energon freeze in his lines was the last transformer, almost hidden completely behind the tree line. He stared at the shadow until he realize what he was looking at.

Shockwave, one of the deadliest mechs on Cybertron. Shockwave alone had taken out two entire sqaudrons of autobots by himself. It had taken Optimus, Ironhide, and Ultra Magnus half an hour just to drive him away from the battlefield. Even then, Optimus and Ironhide had been seriously injured, nearly sending Ratchet into a stress-induced fritz.

And all around the clearing, were gathering mechs. Some he had never seen, some of them he had met in battle. He sighed and rubbed at his cranial units. These mechs were some of Megatron's best men. How the slag they were going to take care of this was beyond him. There were other pictures, but they too, were too blurry to discern separate mechs.

Optimus turned on his personal communications line and sighed softly. He had no way of explaining this to the secretary of defense. He dialed the SecDef's personal line and waited patiently. The soft beeping of the phone seemed to be mocking him.

"Artie Smith speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"I need to speak with Mr. Keller, please"

"Yes, sir. May I ask who is speaking? He's in a meeting right now…"

"Optimus Prime."

Exactly 2.5 seconds passed before Artie spoke.

"…He's on his way now, sir."

"Thank you."

-

-

-

"What's going on, Optimus?"

"I think you know, Mr. Keller."

Here the man sighed heavily into the mouthpiece.

"I was hoping that it was a fluke."

"I as well, Mr. Keller. However, this is no longer just a national security issue. They are in Washington, quite close to the Canadian border. You need to inform the Canadian Prime Minister, Mr. Keller."

"I would, Optimus, but President Smith is not cooperating. He wants to keep you guys secret for as long as possible. Or until elections, which he probably will lose."

"I understand, Mr. Keller. Please do what you can."

"I will."

"I will update you later."

"Thank you."

-

-

-

Optimus stood in front of the meeting room, waiting for the murmuring to stop. He made a noise similar to a human clearing their throat and waited patiently. Silence fell heavily across the room full of his trusted advisors – Prowl, Jazz, Hound, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Red Alert. They were the only mechs on this base that Optimus would trust with his spark (except for his mate, but she didn't count at the moment).

"I won't waste any time getting started. We have received rather disturbing images from human satellites concerning decepticon activity." The screen went from the autobot decal to the the pictures of the decepticons gathering in the clearing. There were a few hushed gasps and quiet muttering. Optics across the room widened in surprise and shock.

"Prowl and I have monitored the security grid that was set up around the globe and we found a breach over the northern part of Ireland. I've sent the aerialbots to investigate and there are no landbound mechs in Ireland or England. Prime Minister Anderson from England has been informed of us and the status of the war. We are still monitoring Scotland and Greenland. The president has commisioned two ships to help monitor the oceans. Europe and Asian countries have not reported any strange activities." He paused for a second.

"You mean to tell us, sir, that Starscream managed to get over 50 mechs back to Earth, under our security grid, without us or humans noticing?" Ironhide was incredulous. He had personally helped build the grid. He made no mistakes when it came to defense, especially now that they had femmes on the base. The fifteen or so femmes on base were the future of the entire race.

"Yes, I mean exactly that. The breach in the grid was no bigger than 50 feet across and lasted no more than three Earth hours. As you may remember, we specifically programmed the grid to monitor for any Cybertronian signals or alloys entering or leaving the atmosphere, as well as any foreign radio signals and high levels of radiation. The sensors we deployed were transmitting looping signals, replaying the same signal. Since Teletraan 1 has not been finished, we could not differentiate between a looped signal or a real signal. We can only tell if the grid has been breached or not." Ratchet bowed his head. He and Wheel Jack had been working on Teletraan 1 as hard as they possibly could and they still failed. Optimus shot him a strange look and sent a quick message.

_Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Ratchet, so help me Primus I will kick your aft._

"Who'd do somethin' like that?" It was Hound that had spoken. Ratchet shot Optimus a sad smile. He definitely blamed himself.

"We are not sure. The President and Prime minister are discussing it as we speak. There are very few countries with the technology capable of hacking our signal. Several ships and their cargo has gone missing, along with a submarine. It was carrying an undetermined number of nuclear warheads. We are not sure if it was active or not. They have set up base somewhere and we cannot triangulate any locations. We cannot trace the warheads, either. The satelites have not picked up any kind of strange activity. We can only assume that the decepticons know our satellite pattern, as well as NASA's satellites."

There was a low, soft whistle.

"The satelites move in pairs, so that there are two eyes, so to speak, at one location at a certain time. There are gaps of mere minutes before the next satellites cross that threshold. How fifty-odd decepticons managed to move so quickly and efficiently is beyond me. There is also one more thing."

Optimus paused, trying to gather his thoughts. Optimus felt nauseated and he could only imagine the reactions to what he was about to say.

"Our grid signal was in Cybertronian. Barricade, Frenzy, and Scorponok are not capable of hacking past our firewalls. Their com signals were taken off line long before we built the grid, and any messages that the three have sent have been monitored completely. The grid signal was also encoded with an adaptive rotating frequency. Not even Frenzy has that type of knowledge. Megatron, Blackout, and Bonecrusher are dead. Their remains have been confiscated and melted down. That can mean only one thing."

Prowl felt a sickeningly cold sensation settle in his tanks. He hoped that his logic chips were wrong. But even as he stood, he knew that his chips were right and that they were royally screwed.

"What does that mean, sir?"

"Someone on this base helped them hack the grid."

-

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-

Hehehehe, now how's that for a plot turn?


	14. In Which There is More Trouble

Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form. I only own Nightshade and Artie.

-

-

-

Optimus Prime was angry. No. Wait. Angry didn't quite cover it. Perhaps livid?

In all of his years in existence, he had met many, many species of aliens. Some were bipedal like him, some were organic, and some were impossible to tell what exactly they were. But, while these organisms may have been completely different and unaware of one another, they all knew the same exact thing.

An angry Optimus Prime meant trouble…of the painful kind.

He was about to take matters into his own hands. With the President refusing to at least acknowledge their mere existence, things were going downhill. And rather quickly, too. He had been forbidden from taking action against any decepticons in nearby areas, leaving the army and air force to fend for themselves…against five seekers, Sound Wave, and a gestalt. His computing center drew up a human saying that went something along the lines of: "Shit, this is fan. Fan, this is shit. I believe you know what to do."

"Hello?"

"Artie, it's Prime."

"Oh, hello. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I don't have time for pleasantries right now. I wish to speak with the president. Again."

"Of course, sir."

A few moments passed and Optimus could hear muffled arguing from beyond the headset. Hm. Artie was smart mouthing the president. Good boy.

"Yes?" The man on the other end was just as angry and haggard as Optimus.

"Mr. President. Please just let us help you. You can't fight off five seekers, a gestalt, _and_ Soundwave at the same time!"

"We've got it under control-"

Here, something in Optimus's computing center snapped.

"You've got it under control? As if! I'm watching the fight right now on satellite, and you most definitely do not have it under control! Your men are _dying_ for no apparent reason! Either you accept our help or I will personally reveal our race to your people, Mr. President. It's your choice," Optimus was nearly shouting. Red Alert and Prowl were sitting beside him, twin smirks on their faces. It wasn't often that someone managed to get under Optimus's skin, so to speak, but once they did, Optimus very nearly went ballistic.

"…fine, Mr. Prime. Send whatever help you want to. But _do not reveal yourselves_ unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Thank you, Mr. President. We'll be there as soon as we can," Optimus said cheerfully, and then hung up, a smug grin on his features

-

-

-

Fifteen minutes later found them at the edge of the battlefield. The humans were cornered up against a grove of trees, pinned by Sound Wave and the gestalt. The airborne humans were being chased (and shot at) by the seekers. The seekers were just having a good time, shooting away. Optimus pulled up, transforming as he did so. The seekers in the sky took notice and stopped shooting at the humans. Starscream cackled.

"Let's go kick some autobot aft!" His seekers followed, letting out a war cry. Just as they turned to shoot at Optimus, Silverbolt and his men showed up.

"Yeee-haaw, let's go, boys!"

Some of the resident Air Force pilots dropped their jaws as they watched the dogfight. The way the mechs flew was absolutely _unbelievable_. The way that the bots seemed to defy all laws of physics was breath taking. The graceful, deadly fight was drawing closer and they broke from their dazes.

Air Commander Reginald Anderson let out a shout over the communications.

"Let's go help 'em!"

The sleek silver jets turned and flew into the fight, targeting Starscream, raining rounds and bombs onto the silver mech. The mech howled in pain.

"Get these fleshbags!" One of the seekers peeled away from the fight and turned to the humans, a predatory look in his optic. He was going to have fun killing the humans. Anderson pushed down on the throttle hard, accelerating insanely fast and shooting past one of the seekers. He wasn't Ace of Aces for no reason, and if he died, he was going to take this guy out with him! Anderson throttled past the blue mech called Dirge. He arced up into the sky, wincing as the twin engines on his F-22 screamed in protest. A few laser shots danced out across the cockpit, too close for comfort. Rolling to the left, he let loose a few shots of his own, smirking when the trail of destruction nearly took off the mech's wing. The jet, however, turned and shot at Anderson, forcing him to roll into loop after loop, just to avoid being killed. Anderson knew he must have looked absolutely ridiculous. Dirge confirmed it and started taunting Anderson over the open com line.

"Heehee, fly fleshie fly!" Anderson bristled. No one called him a fleshie and got away with it (even though he had no idea what it meant)!

"Sir, do you need assistance?" Two jets shot past below him, trailing another one of the mechs, one called Ramjet. They opened fire on the jet, narrowly missing it.

"No, Thomson. This one's mine," Anderson growled, taking another few shots at the mech. His efforts were rewarded with a howl of pain from the jet, who transformed _mid-air_. Anderson swore loudly and swerved out of the way as the mech pulled a beast of a rifle out of nowhere and began shooting at him. It was all that Anderson could to stay ahead of the bullets. Another one of his men came up behind the mech and let loose.

"Ya good, Commander?"

"I'm fine, Elizabeth, thank you."

"He's all yers, boss. I'ma go and kick me some ass-I mean butt, sir." Elizabeth grinned sheepishly at her slip up, hoping her Commander wouldn't say anything. He ignored her slip up and continued flying. Anderson smirked at the mech (even though it couldn't see the smirk behind his air mask) and fired.

"Who's laughing now, bitch?" he roared, shooting what bullets he had left into the form of the mech. The mech hit the ground hard and Anderson followed, the nose of his jet pointing straight down. At the last second, he pulled back hard on the throttle, shooting back up into the sky and releasing his bombs. He pulled hard up again and barrel rolled. He looked up out of the cockpit at the ground. The dust cleared and he cheered. He wondered vaguely if this counted toward his body count. The mech was melted through. There was nothing left of him that remotely resembled robot, except for melted shards of metal and the occasional spark.

Anderson brought his beloved jet around. Starscream howled when he saw that two of his seekers had been done in by humans. He and Anderson's gazes met. Anderson's eyes and Starscream's optics narrowed simultaneously. Starscream suddenly accelerated and Anderson managed to loop out of the way. Time seemed to slow and Anderson watched as Starscream's wing came mere inches away from the reinforced Plexiglas of the cockpit. Anderson felt his heart stop as the jet roared by, the air filled with smoke from his afterburners. The fiery blue heat that emanated from the afterburners of the jet was so intense that Anderson could have sworn that the glass was starting to melt. Once Starscream had passed time seemed to speed back up and Anderson could hear the warning shouts of his men. It became background noise. Two more jets shot past, this time, two of Prime's men. Anderson sweat a little. Maybe taking on the decepticon air commander by himself hadn't been a good idea…

"Nice shooting, Major Anderson," said the metallic voice of one of the jets.

-

-

-

Nearby, Optimus rolled as Sound Wave sent out a concussion blast. Optimus grit his dental plates in pain as his left audio shattered. Chromia ducked, rolled, and took careful aim. She let out one shot and down Sound Wave went. Optimus gaped. It was too easy. Far too easy. Sound Wave took three mechs his size on and still won. A single shot couldn't have killed him. The round had pierced his one eye, severing his neural net. Chromia let out two more rounds, effectively shattering his neural circuit. Optimus sighed grimly. He had hoped that the autobots wouldn't have to resort to killing in cold blood. However, Sound Wave had made one giant, crucial mistake: he had threatened Ironhide. And no body ever messed with Chromia's mate and came out unscathed. Ironhide gulped as his mate approached. She was scary out on the battlefield.

"Come on, you two! The humans can't hold Bruticus off much longer!" Optimus roared, leaping into the fray and forgetting Sound Wave's easy defeat. The humans began firing once more in earnest. Bruticus swung around quickly. Optimus blinked in surprise as Bruticus's fist came swinging out of the blue, sending him flying. He hit the ground, slid a good seventy feet, and came to a jarring halt as he was stopped by a rather large oak tree.

Optimus staggered back up and growled, unsubspacing his laser rifle. Chromia let out a loud whoop as Firestar joined in, her arms full of explosive devices. Firestar flung one of the devices up at the gestalt's aft, where it _stuck_. …the slag?

"Magnets," Firestar shouted, tossing another one up there. The gestalt was too enraged to notice that there was a highly explosive device on his aft. Firestar managed to deposit two more before she was slammed into a nearby tree, like Optimus had been. Except she had no fighting chance being hit at such a close range. The tree exploded in a shower of splinters. Firestar did not move. Her battered frame lay in the exposed roots of a second tree.

"Optimus to Ratchet! We have wounded! You and Red Alert get out here, now!"

"Yes, sir. ETA in about two minutes."

Firestar's famous bombs exploded and the gestalt shrieked in pain. Optimus wrenched his rifle from the dirt and started shooting. Bruticus collapsed and fell apart, five mechs springing…well, three, because the other two mechs were on the ground, writhing in pain. The three functioning mechs retreated after staring down the business end of Optimus's large and rather wicked looking laser rifle.

"Decepticons, retreat!" Starscream's high pitched voice rang out over every public com signal, making some of the humans wince.

The decepticons that could move high tailed it out of there. Optimus wearily sighed and put his weapon away. There were six dead humans. Three of his men were seriously injured.

"Ratchet, make sure the decepticons are dead…if they aren't, do what you think is best," Optimus said. Ratchet nodded, hoping that the decepticons were dead. He hated killing, even if it was a pity kill. He went over to the two seekers. One was dead. The other one was minutes from death. Two seekers were mauled by a small group of 7 human pilots. Not bad. Not bad at all. Perhaps, Ratchet would send one of the aerialbots to train them a bit more…they'd make some pretty good allies.

He and Red Alert tossed the two bodies into a pile. Then he made his way over to the two fallen gestalts cautiously. He could see that they were still functional, although not for very long if they didn't receive treatment. He knelt beside the orange one, nudging it gently. It moved, groaning.

"Slaggin' pit…"

"Red Alert, this one's still alive."

"Fra-" The mech fell silent as Ratchet injected it with a sedative and put him into stasis lock. His friend followed shortly after.

"Ratchet! Come here! Firestar needs your help!" Optimus shouted, having found the femme. Optimus winced as they gently extricated her from the tangled roots of a tree. Her back armor was split open and her spinal support strut was bent at a strange angle. Nearly all of her motor wires had been severed. She was leaking energon quickly.

Ratchet darted over and swore.

"What did she do to herself?!" He immediately began to weld shut the major tears and gashes. Lines burst faster than he could weld them shut. Alarms began going off as he continually scanned.

"Her systems are crashing! Frag!" Ratchet continued swearing loudly, the humans watching in horror as he shoved his hands deep into her torso, his fingers and tools dancing over split lines and torn wires. Ratchet tied off the main line, trying to stop the leakage. It stopped, but it wasn't going to last much longer.

Reaching in deeper, he found the problem. The energon-flow regulator in her lower extremities had been jarred loose and shattered. Great. Ratchet paused and shuttered his optics. He weighed his chances and made his choice. Ratchet popped open his own chassis and began pulling parts out of his own system, tearing wires and gears out of place.

"What the slag're you doin', Ratchet?" Red Alert had nearly shouted, waving his arms frantically, startling some of the humans.

"Saving my patient's life," Ratchet growled, welding the new piece into place just as her systems bypassed the weld he'd used to close off her lines.

"You're fraggin' crazy! Optimus, make him stop!"

"What the-Ratchet, stop what you are doing!"

Ratchet ignored his commander and continued taking parts out of his leg. It wasn't like he needed the parts in his leg, anyway. He'd deal with not being able to feel anything below the knee. He saw movement from the corner of his optic. The almost dead decepticon was moving.

He shouted as the mech leveled a laser rifle at the back of Optimus's head. Now, Optimus was a rather large mech and he towered over most other mechs. This also meant that there was extra bulk for someone to shoot at and hit. Ratchet threw himself at his commander, effectively shielding him from the shot. The last thing that Ratchet saw was Optimus using his axe to hack off the mech's arm.

Then everything went dark.

-

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Starscream smirked. His plan was working perfectly. Now all he had to do was get his hands on some of the femmes that the autobots had and he would be able to restore Cybertron to its former glory, if not more. Elita and Chromia were at the top of his list, followed by an unnamed female.

He smirked down at the picture on his desk. The femme was wrapped in silk and coin belts. He'd have her even if it meant leaving Elita and Chromia to their mates. This unnamed femme was a dancer.

"Laserbeak, Rumble," he commanded. The casseticon immediately appeared from the rafters, bowing his head and squawking. Rumble leapt onto a nearby chair and stood on spindly legs.

"I want you two to find out whatever you can about this femme. I have plans for her," Starscream said, carelessly flicking the picture at the smaller bots. Laserbeak nodded and soared out of an open window. Rumble followed behind closely, cursing up at his airborne companion.

-

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"Attention, you lot," Optimus said wearily, looking around the room of his most trusted advisors, sans Red Alert and Ratchet. Red Alert was busy in the med bay and Ratchet was out of the count for now. Hound leaned back in his chair, nursing a freshly repaired arm. Ironhide was dented and scratched up, but still functioning. Prowl and Jazz were both fine, not having been sent for until the last possible minute. They'd arrived just in time to help load the injured onto the waiting trailers. The mechs fell silent under Optimus's weary glare.

"Something is disturbing me greatly," Optimus said, his normally noble voice soft and quiet.

"What is it, boss man?" Jazz asked, trying to lighten the situation. Optimus only shuttered his optics.

"Sound Wave's body is missing. Someone must have hidden the body after the decepticons left."

-

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(gasps) Whatever shall they do?

I don't know if Cereal-Rapist-Spencer still reads this, but I do believe the shit-and-fan line was yours. I hope you didn't mind me using it. It seemed appropriate at the time. :P

I also put Nightshade through the TF Mary Sue Litmus Test…she scored a negative eighteen. (wipes sweat from brow) And here I was thinking that she was a super Mary Sue. She doesn't even have an alt mode, thankyouverymuch.


	15. In Which The Rating Goes Up A Half Notch

Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. I only own Nightshade. Thankies!

Yeah, so the rating goes up another notch in this chapter...just a warning. : D Enjoy!

MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope y'all get some good loot! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, have a wonderful holiday season!

I got a calender with Ratchet in it...and it's hanging above my bed. :P

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Unknowing of the fate Starscream had planned for her, Nightshade sat at Ratchet's side patiently, rubbing his knuckles gently with her hand. He hadn't so much as moved in the past 24 hours and it was starting to worry both her and Red Alert. Optimus had forcibly removed her from the room two hours ago, and she had managed to sneak back in. She bit her lip softly, wiping at a stray tear that ran down her cheek plate. She hadn't even bonded to the mech and her spark felt like it was being torn apart. Nightshade took in a shaky puff of air and tried to calm her processes. It wasn't working, she realized, as tears began streaming down her face. She'd thought that she'd cried herself out last night, when no more tears would come, but she was wrong. She leaned her head down onto her arms, soundlessly sobbing.

Red Alert and the Duo of Destruction (as he fondly called Elita and Chromia) stood in the doorway. Red Alert leaned on the door jamb itself, his arms crossed. Elita stood quietly beside him and Chromia leaned heavily on her commander, her chin on her friend's shoulder. Elita walked toward Nightshade suddenly, causing Chromia to lose her balance. Chromia cursed under her breath and staggered after Elita, struggling to regain her balance.

Elita crouched beside the femme and wrapped her arms around her shaking frame. Nightshade peered up blearily, her optics watery. Chromia sat on Nightshade's other side, squashing herself between the femme and wall. She huffed and glared at the wall before turning to Nightshade. Chromia slung one arm around Nightshade's waist, leaning her head on her shoulder. Nightshade sniffled and wiped a few tears off of her face with the back of her hand, feeling miserable.

"Babe, you need to go and get something to eat," Chromia said bluntly.

"I don't want to leave him," Nightshade responded quietly.

"He'll be fine right where he's at. Red Alert will take good care of him."

"But I don't want him to wake up without me," Nightshade said, her bottom lip quivering dangerously. Chromia almost growled in annoyance. Nightshade may have been a decent medical rookie, a slightly better dancer, and an excellent sparring partner, but Primus, the girl did not know when to turn the waterworks off!

"Let's go and get something to eat or else I'll sic Red Alert on you," Elita said, crossing her arms, ignoring Red Alert's cry of protest.

"But…" At Elita's pleading look, she fell silent. She touched Ratchet's hand one last time and stood suddenly, sending Chromia flying onto her aft. Chromia landed hard, wincing at the loud thud her aft had made upon meeting the concrete.

"What the slag's wrong with you, femme?!" Chromia yelled, standing and rubbing her aft. Elita only giggled and grabbed Nightshade's arm, lacing it through hers. Red Alert stared after them, their friendly jibes echoing down the hallway to the rec room. Perhaps he would have to change their nickname.

Perhaps the Trio of Terror?

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Nightshade decided that she wasn't just miserable, oh no, she was _absolutely miserable_. Scorponok chirped softly, running a claw down her arm, trying to sooth her. The little creature screeched in surprise when she suddenly embraced it, sniffling. It hung there for a moment, tense, but then soon relaxed. After a few minutes (which had gone by far too quickly for Scorponok's liking), she set him down on her lap and leaned over him to drink her energon. He chattered, and tried to crawl back into her arms. It was so warm and he felt safe! She ignored him and gently set him down on the chair beside her. He let out an angry whirr and leapt into Chromia's lap, cuddling into the femme's chassis. Hah, what now, Nightshade?

Chromia swatted him away, glaring at the little scorpion. He sat slumped between the two femmes and let out a pitiful whine.

"Oh, come here, you big baby," Chromia snapped, petting Scorponok. He purred and settled on her lap, wrapping his long tail around himself.

"You're spoiling him," Elita warned, shaking her head. Nightshade smiled sadly when Chromia ignored her commander and picked up the scorpion, talking to it like it were a sparkling. She blushed at the thought of a sparkling in her arms and then she smiled the tiniest bit, imagining a tiny fist waving up at her. What would it look like? Would it be red like its sire, or blue, like her? Or would it be purple, just to spite the both of them? A goofy smile spread over her face…what would it be like to carry the sparkling right next to her spark, for a few vorns? To feel it grow, nestled safely in her chassis?

"Earth to Nightshade," Elita said, waving her hand in front of Nightshade's dazed optics. Nightshade yelped and clutched at her fuel pump, which was going much faster than it should have been.

"What were you thinking about, girlie," Chromia asked, a smirk on her face. Of course Chromia's mind was in the gutter...she may have looked sweet and innocent, but she wasn't. Not in the least (Thanks to Ironhide). That's exactly why she was a force to be reckoned with on the battle field - when she widened her big blue optics and batted them _just _so, 'cons would hesitate for just a fraction of a second. Then they'd die. Chromia would often finish them off with a giggle.

"Nothing…I just…"

"What?" Both femmes were leaning toward her, their voices hushed. Damn those gossip subroutines, Nightshade thought, before answering.

"I think I might want a sparkling," she finally admitted, looking down at her lap. There were two seconds of silence before the two fully grown femmes squealed like a sparkling with a brand new toy. The few mechs that were in the room looked over curiously. Most mechs knew that squealing femmes meant that there was plotting, gossiping, or a sparkling on the way. And the ones in the room hoped sorely that it wasn't the latter, because they would not be able to deal with the spawn of Optimus, Ironhide, or Ratchet.

"Then go bond with Ratchet already," Chromia bellowed, neatly shoving Nightshade out of her chair and onto her aft. Nightshade used a rather vulgar gesture involving the middle digit of one hand. Chromia ignored her. Nightshade's smile suddenly disappeared as she remembered his condition.

"Aw, he'll be fine, Nightshade. You can't kill evil," Chromia said, patting the femme on top of her head.

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Nightshade entered the med bay quietly, not wanting Red Alert to come into the room and chew her aft out. It was dark and cool in the small room. The only sounds she heard were the quiet, internal hums of Ratchet's engine and the whirrs of his fans, and a few quiet beeps coming from his monitor. Her engine let out a sleepy rev and she blushed hotly. Her limbs were suddenly heavy, and she decided that a quick recharge would be nice.

Nightshade scurried around to the opposite side of Ratchet's recovery berth and curled up into his side, draping her arm across his chest…a few minutes with her soon-to-be-mate wouldn't hurt…

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"Aww, they're so cute together…"

"Shut up, you'll wake them up."

"Take another picture."

A snicker.

Nightshade blearily opened her optics, raising a hand to block out the sunlight pouring into the room. She heard soft giggling and her optics focused. There, in the room with her, were Elita and Chromia, along with Moon Racer. The latter had been dragged in. Nightshade let out a low growl and dropped her head back onto Ratchet's chest, seeking warmth. Ratchet's arm tightened around her waist and she could hear a low, almost inaudible chuckle come from the mech below her.

"Ratchet? Are you okay? Am I squashing you?" She made to roll off of him, but he kept his arm firmly clamped around her waist.

"You're fine where you're at. The rest of you, get out," he muttered, his optics becoming more and more focused. The three femmes left, giggling over the pictures that they had taken.

"How are you," she asked, propping herself up on his chest. He smiled up at her weakly.

"I've felt better," he grunted, relishing the curvaceous body resting on top of him. Nightshade's spark leapt in her chest as he shifted beneath her, sending her headlong into his chest. She planted her hands over his chest, trying to keep from hitting her head.

"Don't ever do something so abso-fraggin'-lutely stupid like that again, Ratchet," she said sternly, poking him gently. Ratchet chuckled again but winced as he jarred some freshly soldered wiring. Concerned, she leaned up and kissed him gently. He rested on hand in the curve of her lower back…Nightshade wasn't going anywhere…

Ratchet slanted his mouth over hers, tracing her lips with his glossa, begging for entrance. She acquiesced, gently sucking on him. He let out a low moan, his grip on her waist tightening. Nightshade smirked and nipped at his lower lip, demanding more. Nightshade shifted above him and he almost hissed when she straddled him, her thighs gripping him tightly. If the femme didn't get off of him now…

He arched off of the bed when her fingers found the sweet spot in his chest seam, crying something incoherent out. She smirked again and lowered her head to his chest. She began biting at the raised edges of his armor, her fingers dipping into the seams and gaps of his pelvic armor. He could feel his interface unit heat up, ready to join with another. He almost howled when Nightshade reached down and tweaked several very sensitive cables in his unit, biting the ridges in his abdominal plates at the same time.

Nightshade squeaked softly when Ratchet wrenched her from where she'd been. She stared up at the medic looming above her, his optics white, promising her the night of her life if she accepted his advances. She nodded her assent and spread her legs a little. Ratchet lowered himself, gripping one leg and bit her neck gently, making her arch into him. He let out a soft moan as he felt her grind against him...

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Red Alert slid the door open, followed closely by Chromia and Elita, chatting amiably to the femmes behind him. The scene that met his optics made him drop the data pad in his hands. Chromia and Elita peered around his stock-still form and giggled at what they saw. Nightshade was flat on her back, mewling Ratchet's name while he knelt between her legs, doing some interesting things to her frame with his fingers and glossa. Red Alert turned, his face ashen, and shut the door.

Not a full minute had passed before they heard a scream of "RATCHET!" emanate from the sealed doors.

Red Alert opened the doors and peeked in. Ratchet was on top of the femme once more, ready to finish the both of them off. Two pairs of optics were on him. One pair was mortified. The other was indifferent.

"What the slag're you doing, Ratchet? You're not ready for any kind of vigorous activity! No interfacing until you're completely recharged!"

"Go away," he snarled, sending an acidic glare to the trio in the doorway.

"I think not! Get off of your femme and get your aft in recharge!"

Nightshade groaned in absolute mortification and Elita smirked. It served her right! Now she knew exactly what she and Optimus went through! Ratchet growled and pushed himself off of Nightshade, clamping on arm firmly around her waist.

"Nightshade, you need to leave."

"No, she stays with me. I'll behave," Ratchet growled, his entire body still tense from not overloading properly.

"Fine. But I hear anything that sounds remotely like interfacing, and Nightshade will be removed."

"...fine."

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(ducks bricks thrown by audience)

Yeah, I know. I love tormenting my characters.

Ratchet: (curses) I was about to get some!

Nightshade: (giggles)

Ratchet: (gives authoress the one finger salute and marches off into the med bay)

...and I think I sense some smut coming into the picture pretty soon. (whistles and looks around innocently)


	16. In Which There is Smut

Chapter 16

**Warning: The following chapter contains mature content (or at least an attempt at it). If you have high blood pressure, are pregnant, or think you may be pregnant, do not read unless directed by a physician.**

No, not really. AH HAH! There is finally smut!

And 12345643234566543 thank you's to Litahatchee - she's the awesomeness!

Oh, and go to my profile and take my poll, please...if you want more smut...hehehehe.

To answer a few questions (I always mess up and forget to answer questions in the story line. :O Forgive me!)

Bonding is when they bind themselves to each other for the rest of their very, very long lives. This process can be reversed if the bond is fairly new. It however, can not be reversed if the relationship has been cemented.

Interfacing is just touching one another for overload, a.k.a., a bot-gasm.

Mating is just like bonding, except they intend on having a sparkling. It doesn't always work. In fact, it takes a long time for a femme to conceive, if she even does.

I hope this clears some questions up. : D

And Starscream is a jerk, for now. No offense to Screamer fans.

Yes, the femmes will always exact their revenge, and they will always have blackmail material.

And finally, Ratchet is most definitely not being tortured in this chapter. :)

And finally, Leo is not evil. The traitor is someone you'd least expect, if you can even count them as a someone. :D

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It had been three days.

Three very long days, Ratchet mused darkly as he stared up at the med bay ceiling. Thanks to complications, he'd been stuck there for three days, unable to get out and finish what he and Nightshade had started. He hadn't exposed his spark to her, but it was screaming to be joined with hers, and now. He groaned and rubbed at his chest plates, praying that today would be his final day in the med bay. His spark was throbbing uncomfortably, flaring hotly at the mere thought of Nightshade...writhing beneath him, screaming his name...

Ratchet shook his head. No more dirty thoughts.

Red Alert stepped into the room, holding a data pad in his hand.

"Alright, boss. You'll be able to leave once we go over discharge procedures."

"Make it quick, boy."

"I'll do my best," Red Alert sniffed, sitting on one of the chairs in the room.

"Rule number one: no vigorous activity, unless you're feeling up to it. If at any point during the day you begin to feel weak, you will come straight back here. Secondly, you'll be on light duty for the next two weeks. We're running short on supplies and you are not fully repaired. Thirdly, you need to consume two or more cubes of energon a day, to make up for the inefficiency in your systems..."

Red Alert went on and on.

"Alright. This is the last one. Rule number 134: don't let your radiation levels pass 15 rads. This could be a sign of spark leakage. Now, I'm finished with you. Remember-"

Red Alert looked up. Ratchet was gone. He chuckled.

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Nightshade was startled to hear the door to Ratchet's apartment hiss open. To her utter delight, it was Ratchet. She rose and darted over to him, throwing her arms around him, and burying her head in his chest. He smiled and rested his chin on her head, stroking her back softly. She trembled slightly and felt tears stinging at her optics. He gently raised her face toward his, a slight look of confusion on his face.

"Ratchet, please don't do something that stupid again," she whispered, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"I will never leave you," he said quietly, holding her tightly to his frame. Nightshade felt her vocal processors freeze up, the stinging in her optics was getting worse, and she was shaking even harder, and then suddenly she was sobbing into Ratchet's chest plate. He led her over to the couch and gathered her on his lap.

"Nightshade, love," he started but was unable to finish. He could feel her sorrow eating away at the edges of his spark and suddenly he felt like an absolute slag-head for hurting her.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you, please forgive me, I never meant to hurt you," he whispered gruffly, trying to keep his voice steady. Nightshade sniffled and hiccuped and Ratchet held her tightly for a few more minutes.

"Nightshade?"

"Yes, Ratchet?" She curled up in his arms, his warmth making her a bit drowsy.

"I...I wanted to ask you if..." He faltered before falling silent. Nightshade stirred slightly and met his optics. She reached up and gently ran her fingers across his cheek. He leaned into her touch and sighed gently. Ratchet steeled himself - he could do this.

"What's wrong, Ratchet? Are you feeling ill?" Nightshade felt his chest plates for elevated temperature.

"No, no, it's not that," he said quickly.

"Then what's bothering you?" Nightshade said, biting her lower lip softly.

"I...I wanted to know if youwouldliketobondwithme," he finished quickly, blushing, and refusing to meet her optics. When she stiffened in his arms he added on quickly.

"If you don't want to, that's okay," he said, noting how she tensed slightly. He loosened his grip slightly and tried to control his processes- he wasn't processing his actions logically. He was computing with his interfacing unit (which was currently ordering him to mate with the female), not his logic center. He was pleasantly surprised when she reached up and tugged his head down for a kiss. After a few minutes of passion filled kissing, he drew away, trying to gather his wits about him.

"Nightshade, if we keep doing this-" She put a finger over his lips, silencing him with a quiet 'shush'. She took his hands into hers and pulled him with her, toward his room. He stopped and gathered her close.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Her response was a shy nod. She squealed as she suddenly found herself in Ratchet's arms, being carried into his bedroom. Nightshade couldn't believe it - she was about to bond with her mate!

Once within, he gently set her down on the bed and shut the door quietly. She felt her pump flutter as he drew closer. He seemed shy, unsure of what to do. She almost snorted at that thought - Ratchet always knew what to do, no matter what the situation was! He slowly edged onto the berth and she giggled. He was worse than she'd been for her first kiss...

"What?"

"You're acting as if though I'll snap at you!"

Ratchet was having a hard time containing himself as it was. His spark was pouding away in a nervous tizzy. Even though he'd overloaded plenty of times in front of a crowd before, he'd never given himself completely.

"Well, I don't want to frighten you-"

He was interrupted by the femme grabbing the grill that covered his chest and pulling him toward her. He landed on his hands, on top of her. Ratchet almost rolled back off of her but she wrapped one long leg around his waist.

"What-"

"Shut up," she said, placing her lips over his and kissing him roughly. Ratchet's optics widened. Since when was Nightshade this bold?! Never mind that, he decided, and lost himself in his love's embrace. He felt his interface unit boot up, a sudden but dull wave of heat spreading across his armor. His computing center squashed any coherent thought he may have had when he felt hers respond in the same manner.

Nightshade moaned into his mouth when his hand trailed up the back of her leg slowly, caressing her thigh with feather-light touches. His hand continued its journey, past the joint in her hip, tracing her abdominal ridging, and tweaking a nearby sensory receptor. Nightshade had arched into him when he'd found the sensory node, hissing his name softly. He placed a chaste kiss on her lips before moving down to her throat, nipping softly at a few exposed wires. His hand continued upward, slowly trailing across her chassis, making the femme tremble.

Nightshade removed her hands from his shoulders, nudging him slightly. He pulled away, curious. The curiousity was replaced with surprise as he suddenly found himself on his back, Nightshade comfortably straddling his abdomen. He raised one optic ridge. He was about to flip them over to resume their activities...but he let it go. He wanted to know what Nightshade had in mind for him.

She began by dipping her tiny fingers into the gaps of his armor, stroking wires and dragging her fingertips across chips and exposed wires. Her fingers gently brushed against his freshly healed wounds and he flinched slightly. Nightshade placed a soft, gentle kiss on the newly replaced peice of armor. Then she trailed her glossa softly across the weld scars, tracing each and every one. He gave a soft moan, arching into her touch. Her hands traveled up to his shoulders, teasing the hydraulics that made up his upper arms. He purred contendedly and she pouted, trying to find his sensitive spots. Her hands slipped down once more, trailing down further. She straddled his thighs, bending down to trail her glossa along the raised edges of the plating. He groaned as she started sucking at the edges, his hands flexing into fists. She smirked against the smooth metal that graced his body. That was a rather splendid response. She drew lower until her fingers were buried in the cables that led to his interface unit, her glossa skirting away the very sensitive wire port. He cried out her name, arching off of the bed as he almost overloaded.

She smirked up at him, circling the port and cables with her glossa, suckling gently. Ratchet looked down at her, sudden hope flooding his optics. He clenched his fists, hoping to Primus that she would and wouldn't do what he thought she was about to do. If she did he'd overload without her. He felt her move and he shuttered his optics, his spark fluttering.

She dipped her glossa into the port, sucking. Her hands began to squeeze and massage wires and lines in his pelvic region, making the mech howl in ecstasy as his systems overloaded and rebooted. Static danced over his frame as he shuddered. He lay still for a few minutes, trying to steady his shaking limbs. Nightshade crawled over his frame as she settled, sitting comfortably on his abdomen, while trailing her hands down his chest.

Ratchet groaned softly and reached up to her, firmly grabbing her, and flipping her underneath him.

"How on Cybertron did you learn to do something like that?"

He could have sworn that Nightshade blushed a little under his questioning look.

"Uhm...Chromia."

Ratchet stopped his questioning there. He did not want to know what Chromia did to Ironhide.

He instead began tracing the femme's armor lightly, his bulky digits unable to slip into the seams. Undeterred about their relative size difference, he used his glossa, much to Nightshade's pleasure. One hand slipped underneath her, tweaking the one wire at the base of her spinal relay while the other hand started massaging her interface unit. She mewled his name and arched into him, clutching at his shoulders. She didn't know where else to put her hands, feeling like if she let go of him he'd go away and leave her  
unfinished.

Just his mere touch was enough to send her spark fluttering wildly against its box, demanding to be united with his. She whimpered softly as her climax approached. Ratchet continued his ministrations while settling on top of her. He kissed her once more, wordlessly telling her that this was it. There was no going back now. He used one hand to pull her hips toward his, gently thrusting himself towards her, locking their interface ports together.

At first she didn't feel anything different but then hissed when the link finally uploaded. He was pure passionate fire between her legs, making her hiss and arch against him to try and lessen some of the heat. He pressed her back into the berth gently, kissing her hotly, almost overwhelming her with his barely constrained passion. Nightshade gasped softly as she felt him send her a few files. It felt good. They began streaming information between the two of them, a feedback wave of pleasure making them both moan.

Nightshade ran a hand down his chest, meeting his optics. He looked a bit surprised, but he nodded, parting his chest armor for her. She gasped at the brilliant blue light that bathed her features. His spark was powerful and bright, brilliant and warm like the star that Earth orbited. The rest of the room was suddenly dark and she reached up tentatively. When Ratchet made no move to stop her, she hesitantly stroked the edge of his spark box casing. He let out a delicious sounding little noise and arched into her touch.

"Will you bond with me?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with hope. She nodded shyly, smiling up at him.

"My spark has been ready for yours since the day we met," she said quietly, tracing his strong jawline with her petite fingers. He smiled down at her and kissed her gently. Suddenly shy, she opened her spark box. Ratchet's optics were wide with awe at the flash of brilliant blue light. Her spark was nowehere near as big as his, and instead of a blazing fire, it flashed as cold as ice. He gazed upon it with nothing short of raptuous longing and desire. His optics darkened when he realized that her spark was throbbing as quickly and eagerly as his. It was just as beautiful as she was, both on the inside and outside. Ratchet couldn't believe it. After all this time, he'd finally found his spark mate. He lowered his chest to hers slowly.

Their chests made contact. For a brief second nothing happened, but then she let out a low sob as their sparks merged, becoming one, suspended in the cavity of their chests. She'd never felt anything like this, it was pure contentment. Pleasure took a back seat as their minds, their very essence became one. His spark was bright and warm, hers was cold and shimmering. Two seperate consciousnesses became one and they explored one another, feeling each other through their newly established bond. His presence within her was commanding and powerful but stubborn and gentle. The only thing that they could comprehend were their silent promises to one another.

She flooded their link with all the love she could possibly muster, sending him as much of herself as she could put in their bond, and he reciprocated the action, giving her all that he could. Nothing was kept a secret during those few, crucial minutes as their sparks remained melded together. She knew everything and he knew everything and yet they knew nothing. They strained to know the other, reaching into each other's mind and very soul.

Any petty worries that the either of them may have had disapeared. Everyone else on the base disappeared. The war was gone. No one else existed but the two of them, suspened within one another. Even time seemed to slow. The linking of their sparks may have only lasted ten or so minutes, but to Nightshade, it was not long enough. It never would be. Not even eternity would ever be enough for her to immerse herself in the love and protection that her mate would provide for her. Their bond started to take a turn from peaceful and loving to passionate and pleasurable.

She hissed as their interface units came back online, having been temporarily off-lined in favor of bonding.

While the initial mating may have been pleasurable, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. The burn that was there was returning, but turning into the feeling of "Ratchet-needs-to-get-his-aft-in-motion" . Ratchet gently but nimbly began stroking her body, rekindling the passion that had been buried in favor of initiating their spark bond. He pulled his chest away, only to thrust against hers gently, almost experimentally. She let out a long, low cry, echoing Ratchet's soft moan. He continued thrusting his chest toward hers, one arm underneath her. She mewled and clutched at his shoulders, wrapping her legs even tighter around his waist, as they both writhed in ecstacy.

Her climax started suddenly, the waves of pleasure coming faster and harder, until she felt her entire frame tense up. Ratchet crashed his chest onto hers as she overloaded, almost frying a circuit or two in the process, and screaming his name. Ratchet followed shortly after, shouting her name and shuddering.

They lay still for a moment or two before they actually felt it. Their bond. Nightshade reached tentatively for him through their link, a soft nudge, and was rewarded with a short burst of love before he fizzled out, completely spent. He lay down beside Nightshade, pulling her into his arms firmly.

She kissed the tip of his nose and curled into his arms, tucking her head in the hollow at his throat. She heard him mutter something softly and she giggled.

"Mine."

He rumbled softly as his systems began shutting down. Her systems followed shortly after his, warmth drifting throughout her body.  
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Holy crap. I can NOT believe I just wrote that. (points up at screen and flails)

What did y'all think? Loved it? Hated it?


	17. In Which There is Science

Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form. I own only Nightshade.

And once more, Leo _is_ _not_ the traitor.

The traitor, like I said in the last chapter, is someone you'd least expect it.

Oh, and for y'all out there that aren't nerds like me, I'll define a few things right now. I don't want anyone to go "WTF?" in the middle of this chapter.

Here goes.

A blazar is a phenomenon in outer space caused by matter falling into a super massive, ginormous black hole (think of our sun's mass, then multiply it by ten and raise that number to the tenth power, and do it again. That's how 'super massive' is defined.) The black hole consumes dust, light, and occasionally, a star or two. This fuels the already collapsing star into a bigger, more dangerous event and it shoots off two jets of ionized gas, a.k.a., plasma. The jet travels at anywhere from 95 to 98 percent of the speed of light because it carries solid particles (plasma, bits of dust, gamma radiation, etc), and matter cannot travel (well, at least in this dimension) the speed of light. The smaller the quasar, the faster the jet goes. If anything is perpendicular to the blazar when it reaches the right conditions, and the right distance away, it will be annihilated. Plasma jets, if relatively far away (think millions and millions of light years), appear to be only star light when it reaches us. It's relatively harmless, except for low levels of gamma radiation. And we all know there's nothing quite like gamma radiation on a rainy day.

Good grief, I've been watching too much Discovery. I didn't have to look any of that stuff up, which says a lot about me. (ducks bricks thrown by audience) Yes, I'll go get a life.

Meanwhile, enjoy!

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The next morning dawned bright and early, sending splashes of warm golden sunlight across the room. The light glinted off of two bodies; one white, the other blue. Nightshade stirred, stretching in the berth and smiling as the remnants of the previous night flooded her processing center. Ratchet grumbled quietly as she shifted and he tugged her back to him, burying his face in her neck armor. She sighed gently and turned to face him, tracing his chest with her fingers.

"Five more minutes?"

His optics flashed on when her hands started drifting lower, her glossa and lips tracing the seams of his chest armor. He let out a soft moan, shuddering at her touch…

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Ratchet collapsed beside Nightshade, his chest plates sliding shut with a hiss. She kissed him again, grinning goofily at him. He just cracked an optic open and shot her a mock glare. Her tanks rumbled quietly, reminding her that she needed to refuel.

"Good morning to you, too," she said, nuzzling his neck. He merely grunted and draped his arm over her, intent on going back into recharge. It was the only slaggin' day he got to recharge a little extra this week, and he was going to enjoy it. She only giggled and made her way over to his private wash racks. A hot shower and good scrub down would complete her perfect morning… As she stood in front of the massive cabinet in the room, trying to select a cleaning solution and brush, Ratchet snuck in behind her, intent on rinsing off before Nightshade hogged the room for the next three hours...and used all the hot water.

Nightshade jumped as she heard the water jets turn on. She peeked around the partition.

"Hey, I was here first," she pouted, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

"No peeking, you dirty femme," he shot her a slow, disarming, and, _abso-fraggin'-lutely_ delicious little smile that had every chip and circuit in her body flaming.

"I was here first!"

"You were in the room first. I was in _here_ first," he said, gesturing at the tile beneath his feet.

She ignored him and stepped into the small room, shoved him out of the way, and soaked in the hot water. She applied liberal amounts of cleaning fluid to her brush and started scrubbing away at the nooks and crannies in her armor. Nightshade grinned up at Ratchet cheekily, drawing her hands across his chest slowly. He caught both of her hands in his and kissed her soundly, leaving her weak in the knees and breathless. Ratchet used his hips to pin hers against the wall and he pulled one of her legs up, wrapping it around his waist…

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After parting ways with Ratchet at the med bay, Nightshade ambled over to the rec room to get some energon before meeting up with Chromia and Elita to continue her training. The room was empty and quiet. She grabbed a cube and filled it up, flopped down on the giant couch that took up half the wall, and turned the television projector on. Scorponok came scuttling out from underneath one of the seats, hissing angrily the entire time. He used one small claw to whack her leg hard.

Whoops.

Someone had forgotten to put Scorponok back into the med bay. She picked him up and set him in her lap. His anger dissipated upon being deposited in her lap and he chirped happily, reaching for her nearly empty cube of energon. She allowed him to drink his fill before setting him back down on the floor. The doors opened. In came Elita and Chromia, both wearing matching grins on their faces. Nightshade was instantly on her guard. While Elita could occasionally pull 'innocent' off, Chromia could not. In fact, the words "Chromia" and "innocent" were not to be put on the same page, much less in the same sentence.

"Good morning, Nightshade," the both chorused, grins crossing their faces. Nightshade felt the happy bubble in her chest pop – the two femmes were plotting something, she just knew it. Or maybe Red Alert's paranoia was rubbing off on her…?

"Good morning," she said politely, scooting over so that the two females could join her on the couch. The femmes' looks of innocence turned into eat-slag grins. Crap. They _knew_ something they shouldn't have known. Nightshade immediately began wondering if there was anything that these two _didn't_ know.

"So…"

"What?"

"How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Interfacing with the Hatchet – ow!"

Nightshade had socked Chromia on the arm…hard.

"Just ignore her. How was it?" Elita said excitedly.

"I rather enjoyed it," Nightshade said, trying to keep a hold on whatever remained of her dignity.

"I'll say," Chromia said, leering at Nightshade. And then the rest of her dignity vanished as Chromia nudged her in the side, winking at her.

"What?!"

"Ironhide's rooms are right next door to Ratchet's, darling," Chromia said, a smirk on her face.

"And?"

"Ironhide and I didn't recharge at all last night, thanks to you two-" Here, Elita clamped a hand over Chromia's mouth. Nightshade groaned in absolute mortification. Chromia then bit Elita's hand, hard. Elita yelped and jerked her hand away, cradling it against her chassis. Then she delivered a well aimed smack at the back of her head. However she missed as Chromia ducked, a grin on her face.

"Did you do the thing I taught you to do?"

"Yes," Nightshade said, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

"I figured as much. As loudly as he was screaming your name…" Chromia trailed off at the glare Elita gave her. Nightshade buried her face in her hands. What did she do to deserve this?!

"What exactly did you teach her how to do," Elita asked, looking and sounding thoroughly scandalized.

"The same thing I taught you when you first wanted to interface with Optimus," Chromia said, a dirty little smile on her face. Elita's mouth formed into a perfect 'o' shape and a blush spread across her cheeks. Chromia laughed heartily. She loved corrupting her friends…

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Nightshade only glared at the two femmes sitting beside her. Oh, how she wanted to kill them both… Chromia managed to stifle her giggles. How Elita kept her dignity intact with a friend like Chromia was beyond Nightshade. The crazy femme had a filthier CPU than Ironhide, for Primus's sake!

A sudden shrill alarm pierced the air. Elita and Chromia jumped up, their laughter gone instantly. Nightshade joined them in their mad sprint to the command center. Why, she did not know, because there was no way in Pit they would get her out in the middle of a battle with a gun.

Nightshade finally made it into the command center, wheezing slightly as her winded intake systems tried to supply enough cold air to her systems. Chromia and Elita were both standing in the room with Optimus and Prowl, gaping up at the screen.

A silver and black mech was sitting at the helm of a ship. He bore no faction marks.

"My name is Defensor and I am Neutral. I seek asylum for myself and my crew, Optimus Prime," the male said, his voice low and strong. His amber optics glittered in the light from the screen, expectantly awaiting an answer.

"I will send a representative to your ship once you land. You may land at these coordinates. Any weapons you may have must be surrendered upon your landing. Failure to do so will result in retaliation," Optimus said, his voice steady. But on the inside, he was in turmoil. Neutrals? In this part of the galaxy? Things must have gone badly back on Cybertron and her surrounding systems if Neutrals had responded to the message. Normally, Neutrals wanted nothing to do with either faction, preferring to set themselves up and try to rebuild their lives. Then again, it had been the Autobot and Decepticon's fault that the AllSpark had been destroyed, so the anger from the Neutral part of the population was understandable.

"Of course," the male said, bowing his head, "but I also bring news, of both the good and bad kind."

Optimus felt his spark lurch at the sudden pain in the mech's amber optics. Something had gone spectacularly wrong…

"What happened?"

"Optimus Prime, Cybertron no longer exists."

Optimus froze, clutching at the seat in front of him. The femmes and other mechs in the room responded similarly, going stock still. Cybertron was gone? There was no chance of them going back?

"What happened?" How he managed to speak he did not know, but Optimus's thoughts were whirring away. He had left superior Autobot forces behind to protect Cybertron…he'd left his best men…how could something like this have happened? Had he been wrong in leaving the planet?

"It wasn't because of the Decepticons," the mech said, "No, it was far from it. A star collapsed in a nearby galaxy and a blazar formed. The plasma jets eradicated everything in their path. By the time we learned that Cybertron's orbit would cross the jet's path, we only had two months to get off of the planet."

"A blazar?" Optimus was in disbelief. After all that Cybertron had gone through, after the wars and the pain, a simple plasma jet had destroyed the planet? Optimus's gaze dropped.

"Yes. I feel safe in saying that Primus himself would have been proud of us. We worked together to build ships – the Autobots, Neutrals, and Decepticons – and get ourselves off of the planet. My ship was first to launch. I have not been able to make contact with any of the other ships. We've been separated. However, they know the coordinates of this planet. And we're on our way," Defensor said, a sad little smile on his face.

"But how? How did you get the decepticons to work together?"

"We simply met in the middle of a battle – Blackarachnia was standing in the sky, staring up at the plasma jets. I was trying to get my group out of the way of the fighters. Ultra Magnus was standing beside us, and then we realized that fighting would do us no good. In two hours, we had managed to stop the fighting and give orders that all able bodied soldiers were to work together peacefully and build ships. We tried to save everything that we could, but…"

"But?"

"The great libraries of Iacon were destroyed by the fighting. We weren't able to save much, maybe fifteen percent of the books. We weren't able to save any of the art galleries," Defensor said sadly, fidgeting with the controls. The beautiful works of art that once graced the majestic planet were gone – they would have to start all over again, and try to reproduce what they could.

"The decepticons here on this planet have no idea what just happened. We need to talk to them. Primus," Prowl breathed, his hands splayed on the table in front of him. His intakes were heaving at the mere thought of his home gone – destroyed. But there was a chance for peace…

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Ironhide and Ratchet were both sitting together when the both felt the anguish through their bonds. Ironhide was up and out of his seat in seconds, trying to get to his mate. Ratchet followed shortly, panic starting to seize his systems. In less than thirty seconds they reached the command center. Elita was sobbing quietly into Optimus's chest, the red and blue mech not much better than her. Chromia sensed Ironhide and ran into his arms. Ratchet swept Nightshade up into his arms, begging to know what was wrong.

Optimus lifted his bleary optics. His normally strong and mighty voice shook as he spoke, his anguish barely kept in check.

"Cybertron was destroyed."

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Every single mech and femme in the base was sitting in one of the hangars. Something had to have been seriously wrong - Optimus would never leave the base open for attack for something trivial. Murmurs of worst case scenarios began to run through the crowd – had Megatron been resurrected? Had Cybertron been taken by the decepticons? Was Optimus retiring? Was Chromia pregnant with the spawn of Ironhide?!

Optimus stood. He didn't speak but the entire crowd fell silent as they took in his haggard appearance. It seemed that Optimus had finally broken.

"My friends," he began quietly, "I have bad news and good news."

The room was silent. Crickets could be heard chirping outside of the open windows. No one noticed two casseticons sitting near one of the windows, so entranced were they by Optimus. Laserbeak sat preening a little while Rumble was watching the autobots.

"Cybertron has been destroyed," Optimus managed to get out. For one moment in time, there was nothing but silence as the meaning of his words sank in. Then there was a dull roar, starting to rise in volume as mechs and femmes voiced their concern. Their concern was for the families and businesses and lives they'd left behind. Many mechs and femmes were starting to despair. Were their bonded dead?

"But there is hope. Defensor, a Neutral, has managed to make contact with us. The survivors are on their way and they are bringing their ships and supplies."

"What about the decepticons?"

"They threw their faction insignias away a long, long time ago. Perhaps we can do that here," Optimus said quietly and hopefully.

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Laserbeak all but fell off of his perch. Rumble's optics were as wide as they'd ever been. He stared bug-eyed at the leader. They decided to go back to Starscream and let him know about this interesting new development. However, they didn't quite make it back to base. Frenzy, having sensed his brother nearby, alerted Barricade, who alerted Prowl, who'd nearly gone ballistic. The two casseticons were rounded up and locked in separate cells.

Prime strolled down to the brig, tense. Rumble and Laserbeak were both silent when he entered. They expected torture or something, but not what the leader did next. He simply unlocked the brig doors.

"Before I let you go, I want you to take a message back to Starscream."

Rumble, who'd been poised to run, fell flat on his face at the comment. Laserbeak chirped and nodded his head to show his understanding.

"Tell Starscream that…that since Cybertron and the AllSpark are gone…Tell your men that they are welcome on this base at any time but they must defect. Otherwise…we have direct orders from the government to hunt down any decepticons that do not comply," Optimus said, not able to meet Rumble's optics.

Optimus then scooped up the two casseticons and carried them out of the base and set them free.

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The decepticon's reactions were no different, except they were just a wee bit more violent. A few punches were thrown before Starscream silenced the group. He looked down at the ground and spoke slowly, his optics narrowed just a hair.

"Prime has issued an ultimatum: Either we defect or we will be hunted down."

There were loud growls and protests. Some swore that they would not be hunted down like turbo-foxes, and they'd fight until their dying day. Some of the mechs wisely kept quiet. Those were the ones that did not want to die for something pointless. The war was over. Cybertron was gone. So was the AllSpark. There was no point to this crazy fight anymore. They would have a chance to rebuild their lives, settle down, start family units…

Starscream glanced over at Sound Wave's body. The traitor that had infiltrated the autobot base had done the job very well. He smirked. The source hadn't given him its name, but the source was good – he'd had access to everything from communications codes to medical files.

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Defensor left the ship's helm in command of one of his subordinates and made his way into the living quarters of his ship. He paused to speak with a mech and made his way to the medical bay. Upon his entrance the medical officer of the ship smiled up at him.

"Back so soon?" His voice was soft and teasing. He only grunted and shot the medic a mild glare, to which he laughed and turned, going about his duties. Defensor crouched down and started clicking softly.

A tiny green head poked out from underneath a table. The rest of its body followed and it started clicking energetically, waving its tiny fists around. Defensor sighed softly and tickled at the sparkling's sides.

"Soon, little one, we'll have a home again. You and the other little ones will have somewhere to grow."

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Oi, what a wrench I've tossed in there, eh?

(ducks from second volley of bricks)

(peeps back up from behind desk)

I kinda wrote another random story, just to practice my uh...writing skills (we'll just call it that, lol)...it's a Prowl threesome. Ask for the link and you shall recieve. :O


	18. In Which There is Optimus

Chapter 18: In Which Optimus has a Bad Day

Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all but Nightshade.

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Optimus was having a field day trying to work things out with the human government. Oh, it'd been easy enough to ask for refuge for a few dozen mechs (few being a hundred dozen extras, if that made any sense). They'd expected no more than two or three dozen extra Transformers. Of course they didn't mind, they even started filling out the necessary paperwork. Then someone had the relatively bright idea to ask how many incoming autonomous organisms they should expect. Optimus went silent for a second before saying something along the lines of it only being a few hundred. The female on the other end of the line choked and asked again.

This time how many mechs, exactly. Prime steeled himself and spoke.

"I'm not sure how many exactly, but the number is well over two thousand. They'll be arriving over the course of a few centuries."

There was dead silence on the other end of the phone before the woman composed herself and tried to crack a joke.

"I guess I'll need more paper, then."

Optimus gave a nervous chuckle. Then the secretary of defense had called him mere minutes after his conversation with Maria Lopez, the head ambassador and liaison between humans and aliens. Mrs. Lopez was relatively new to the job - they hadn't known that aliens existed up until a few years ago, and the most certainly did not know or expect that they would be playing host country to a gaggle of displaced war refugees. Initially, the man was 'pissed off', to use human terms. Then Optimus told him.

John Keller was speechless after Optimus told him everything that had happened. Finally, after a few minutes he spoke.

"You said your world was destroyed?"

"Yes, by a blazar."

"Normally, I'd have to wait years for the paperwork to go through…and the President. Good Lord he's going to have a fit. Prime, you'll be the one talking to him. Not me. But for now, I'll grant you a mass green card. It's never been done before…but neither has there been a mass movement of aliens. But I'm not going to turn you away, not after what you've done for us, Optimus. That I will promise you."

Optimus had to give John Keller credit. He was calm and friendly throughout the entire conversation, even cracking a few jokes about sending some higher up's into cardiac arrest.

"Thank you, Mr. Keller. We are forever in your debt. There is no way I can show my gratitude for this," Optimus said, joy finally taking the place of sorrow in his voice. Keller only smiled. He knew how painful it was to move from one state to another and leave family behind – but to have your entire world destroyed in a single instant? Keller decided to do whatever possible to help Prime out.

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Starscream came out of recharge that morning in a good mood. He had a full energon cube, his room was nice and dark, and he had some high grade stashed somewhere. Laserbeak and Rumble had proven themselves extremely worthy the previous day. That silly, bumbling Prime – he gave two casseticons a tour of their base!

Starscream came out of his room and was greeted with silence. There were eight mechs sitting in their command center, silent. No one was at their post. Shock Wave was sitting in one corner, his yellow optic roving around the command center.

"What is the meaning of this? Where are all of the others?"

"Gone," said Long Arm.

"What do you mean?!"

"They've defected," another mech said, pointing at the pile of decepticon insignias on the floor. Starscream felt rage bubbling inside of him and something snapped.

"I am going to hunt down every last traitor. I won't quit until I have their sparks in my bare hands," he snarled, his optics glowing bright as blood. Long Arm gulped.

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Optimus was sitting in the command center when the alarms went off. The lights dimmed and red lights started flashing, indicating a mass attack by an enemy. Optimus and several dozen of his mechs were outside with their weapons drawn, battle masks down. Optimus very nearly dropped his rifle when he saw what was happening. There was a large group of decepticons outside of the base…except they no longer wore the decepticon insignia. Sound Wave was being carried inside of Astrotrain, his casseticons perched all around him. Ravage approached Optimus and put a paw on his massive foot.

"I formally renounce my ties with the decepticon army and its policies. I wish to become Neutral, or if you'll allow me, I would like to serve under you as an Autobot," the feline said eloquently, sitting back on his haunches. His tail swished from side to side. Rumble approached and perched beside Ravage. Optimus's optics were as big as saucers…robot-sized saucers, that is. He was as close to stammering as he'd ever been in his long life.

Optimus then had to decide what to do with 42 odd ex-decepticons. Primus, Red Alert and Prowl were both going to have fits of epic proportions…

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Optimus was exhausted beyond all belief. He'd tried to find quarters for his new additions and explain the situation to Ironhide, who'd nearly gone ballistic at the thought of ex-decepticons anywhere remotely close to his mate. Then, after calming Ironhide down, he had to go and calm down the _other_ bonded mechs on the base. After that, he had to go and calm Prowl and Red Alert. When he explained what happened, Red Alert's CPU crashed and he ended up having to drag Red Alert to the med bay…where Ratchet was waiting. Then, after deciding that there was no way in Pit that he'd be able to find rooms for the ex-decepticons, he set out to convert an old airplane hangar into a rough shelter, until he could find the man power to build a second and third floor. Slag…they still had to finish the civilian half of the base!

Then, after his startling realization, he had to go and remove Sunstreaker and Sideswipe from the airplane hangar where the decepticons were rooming, because they kept teasing the minicons…and Shock Wave did not like it when mechs teased his casetticons. So in the end, he had to separate a group of about six mechs from fighting (Prowl couldn't separate them on his own and Red Alert was down for the count), dole out punishment, and have someone clean up the mess.

He'd then collapsed in his chair, trying to do something about the massive pile of reports on his desk when the phone call came through. It was the President. After two hours of arguing with the President, assuring the Secretary of Defense that the decepticons meant no harm, and telling him that they had a shuttle full of inbound colonists, he managed to make a little progress. The president was no longer spouting threats of removing the autobots (well, he couldn't have if he wanted to). They'd been given two weeks to settle everyone down. Then they would be having a detail of human inspectors scouring the base and ex-decepticons, to deem whether or not they were a serious threat to the United States of America. Then he had to deal with a ranting Ratchet, complaining that Red Alert had escaped from the med bay. Poor Prime then received a message from the department of Homeland Security – he was going to be receiving a shipment of supplies in three days and he'd have to have someone pick them up. Slag.

After the argument with the President (and Ratchet), Optimus then stretched back in his chair, hoping to have a breem to himself…when the door slammed open. Jazz and Bee were shouting something about Ratchet being broken. The words "Ratchet" and "broken" had Optimus's computing center in a fritz so he took off running toward the med bay, his spark twisting in apprehension. Upon his entrance, Ratchet jumped and dropped whatever it'd been in his hand.

"Ratchet, Jazz and Bee said that something was wrong. Are you sick? Do you need time off? Oh, Primus, don't tell me that you're actually broken, Wheeljack is still out of commission right now! How many fingers am I holding up-"

"I'm fine, Optimus, I'm in a good mood," Ratchet said, a small smirk on his face. Then Optimus realized the implications and he turned stiffly, muttering something about needed a case of high grade to get through the rest of the night. Once he'd made it back to his office (after being accosted by Prowl and Red Alert, wanting to know where their reports were) he sat down. Then the second call came through. It was Mr. Keller again and he sounded angry. He sounded very angry. Optimus very nearly lost his temper when he heard what the President had decreed – the inbound shuttles would be escorted by F-22s and searched by humans before the autobots could have access. Prime snarled that he would not allow something like that and he was not going to have his people prodded and poked like projects, nor detained. Last time the President ordered something like that, Bumblebee had ended up strapped down to a table, stuck full of sensors and needles.

"I know what you mean, Optimus. I can't do anything to change his mind, either." Keller was as flustered as he'd ever been in his life.

"I absolutely will not allow you to use military force on a shuttle full of Neutrals, they aren't involved in our war!"

"What are Neutrals?"

"They are not Autobot nor are they Decepticon. They do not believe in siding in this war. Most of them left before the war actually began and took refuge in other worlds."

"I see. I'll do the best I can to explain this to the President. Do you happen to know how I can get in contact with Mr. Lennox?"

"I've got him on call waiting right now." Prime put Will through to the Secretary of Defense. His voice rang out loudly over the communications line.

"Prime, what's going on, why is Sam in hysterics?! He called me screaming something about decepticons running all over the base-Oh God-"

"Captain Lennox-" "Mr. Lennox-"

"You haven't been taken over, have you Prime? Are you being held hostage? Oh, God, where's Ironhide? Is he okay! I'm going to come up there and kick some decepticon ass, Prime, you hear me?! Just hang on for me-"

"Mr. Lennox!" Mr. Keller's sudden outburst shocked the battle ready man (who was at that instant, unpacking a handy dandy rocket launcher out of the foot locker under his bed) out of his fuming rage.

"Yes, Mr. Keller?" Will asked, fidgeting with the safety lock on the trigger of the launcher.

"The Autobot base has not been run over by decepticons – Mr. Prime has just told me that the decepticons, well, most of them, have defected! Please calm yourself!"

"This is true, Captain Lennox," Optimus's deep voice rumbled over the line.

"Anyway, Mr. Lennox. I was wondering if you would come and debrief the president on our resident aliens. He believes that they're giant computers on legs…and that they aren't sentient," John said, sighing at the silence that hung on the end of the phone.

Will spoke softly, each one of his words trembling in barely suppressed anger.

"That sonofa- 

"Mr. Lennox," warned Keller.

"He's going to have a few words from me, how dare he say something like that? Not sentient my ass-"

However, Keller and Optimus were both shocked at what happened next. They started laughing madly as they heard Sarah Lennox scream something at Will.

"STOP WAVING THAT DAMN THING AROUND OR YOU'RE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH!"

Then, with a hasty goodbye, Will had hung up and gone on his business. Optimus had chatted a few more minutes with Mr. Keller before hanging up. Then he'd looked at the clock. It was only 6 p.m. He let his head slam onto the desk.

After five minutes of blissful silence, he got an emergency call from Bluestreak. It seemed that the Twins had gotten out of the brig and had done something inappropriate. Bluestreak jabbered something about Rumble being hung from the ceiling by his foot. Optimus went upstairs to where Bluestreak had said, and lo and behold, there was Rumble, dangling from the ceiling, terrified out of his processors. Optimus then gently helped the casseticon down. Ravage was waiting, pacing nervously. Upon being set back down on the floor, Ravage pounced on Rumble and gave him a good going over.

"Rumble, I cannot begin to apologize for what the twins have done to you. I ask that you forgive them and their stupidity," Optimus said wearily. Ravage nodded and nudged Rumble toward Soundwave's quarters. Optimus had exactly two minutes of beautiful silence as he walked back to his office. Someone had found a stash of high grade and were now passing it around – _while they were on shift_. Prowl had just gotten off of his shift and Ratchet had found Red Alert (who'd been hiding behind a filing cabinet, trying to make a break for the med bay doors), meaning that Optimus's only back up was out of commission.

This had Optimus sprinting _back_ the way he came from, all the way to the other side of the base where Ironhide and Jazz had just finished off their barrels of high grade. Jazz had looked up at his commander with a sheepish look on his face. Ironhide had simply offered the last barrel. Without thinking, Optimus had taken it and slugged it back. He was going to need all the back up he could get to just get through the day.

Then, after sternly reprimanding the both of them, he walked all the way back to his office and plopped down in his chair, staring at the pile of reports to go through. Was it his imagination or was the thing growing steadily taller as the day went by? He grabbed the top data pad and set to work on it. It was all that Optimus could do to keep from groaning in sheer frustration as Bluestreak brought in his reports – the slaggin' rookies were learning how to shoot – and there were quite a few of those reports. Some of the rookies had managed to tear a few holes in the ceiling, nick Sunstreaker's (why the slag was Sunstreaker in there, again?) armor, and the rookie had gotten his aft handed to him. Bluestreak then joined in the fray and hauled Sunstreaker's golden aft to the brig…where Prowl was waiting, with a stack of disciplinary pads to fill out…and then delivered them to Prime, who was about to blow a gasket. Prime sat down in his office, rubbing at his cranial unit, praying to Primus for a few minutes of rest -

Then all hell broke loose when Ratchet found out that someone had stolen his tray of medical supplies…along with his favorite welder. This left Optimus to track down the culprit (who ended up being Ravage, trying to repair minor damage to Laserbeak's wing) and bring them back to the medical bay. Ravage and Laserbeak both cowered under Ratchet's intense glare.

Optimus made it out of the medical bay just as Ratchet launched into a verbal lashing, reminding the casseticons that _he_ was the chief medical officer, and if they had _any problems whatsoever_ they came to _him_, and they didn't touch _his _things, or else he would be very, very angry. Optimus then wearily staggered back to his office and sat down. The giant pile of reports looked bigger than before. It took Optimus a few seconds to compute that it was bigger – Prowl had finished his reports on the twins and some of the new additions to the base, along with damage reports from the firing range, sparring room, rec room, and…the med bay? Ratchet must have snapped.

Three hours later found Optimus half-way through the massive pile of reports. He had just finished adding his remarks to it when a familiar bell chimed on his computer screen. Great, another mech with a problem. What, was he supposed to drop everything he was doing to take care of them? Ignoring the sarcastic thought, Optimus went ahead and dropped what he was doing to see who it was on the other line. It was Defensor, who looked extremely upset.

"Yes, Defensor? How may I help you?"

"Optimus, sir, it seems that we will arrive sooner than expected. One of our crew is deathly ill and we cannot treat her here," Defensor said, the smallest twinge of panic creeping into his voice. Optimus nodded.

"By all means, do what you can to get here faster. I'll have my CMO look at your patient. While he's waiting, do you mind sending your patient's information?"

Optimus blinked in confusion as the door behind Defensor opened and shut without warning. Defensor clicked softly and something climbed into his lap.

It was a small green youngling.

"By Primus, is that a sparkling, Defensor?!"

"Yes, her name is Evergreen. Her twin is very sick."

"Just what ship are you piloting? I was under the impression that you were a group of colonists. How many crew are on your ship?"

"Eight mechs…and these two younglings. These two were the only ones that survived," Defensor said sadly, "However, the ships that are inbound are carrying at least twenty sparklings, if not more-"

"T-twenty?" For the first time in his life, Optimus stuttered. His optics were wide. Not only did they have to build a ship bay, more space for the additions, and somehow find a way to provide energy for all of them, they now had to build a nursery. Slag. This meant _another _phone call to Mr. Keller, who would most certainly be unhappy. This also meant another massive stack of data pads and paperwork to go through, and soothing an upset William Lennox, who would have to deal with Banachek and the President. Then he'd have to actually acquire the materials to do all of that with. Damn, and here he was, thinking that maybe, _just maybe_, he could do this without his computing center imploding.

Nope, he was fragged up the exhaust.

"Yes," Defensor said quietly, stroking the now recharging sparkling's head.

"Primus. I'll do what I can to get a makeshift nursery set up for your arrival," Optimus said. Defensor smiled and they bid each other good bye. 

Optimus then immediately called the mini-bots and Construction panel and told them to do whatever was necessary to have a small nursery built by the time the shuttle arrived (which originally would arrive in three weeks, but was now due in less than one. The next shuttle, which carried the twenty or so sparklings, would be due in a year, so there wasn't much to worry about…for now). Optimus groaned and grabbed a second barrel of high grade, slugging it back in one shot.

Then he grabbed another data pad…

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It was four-slaggin'-o'clock in the morning and Optimus had finished the last report in his massive stack of datapads. How he made it back to his quarters without crawling the entire way was beyond him. Somehow he managed to type in the code for his door and somehow he managed to collapse on the berth beside Elita. She instantly awoke to tend to her mate.

"Oh, Optimus, you're over-working yourself again," she said, pouring as much comfort as she could into their bond. Optimus weakly rumbled his approval and turned a bleary optic toward Elita.

"But it's worth it, Elita."

"Why is that," she asked softly, running a hand down her mate's chassis. Her optics met his and he grabbed her hands in his, giving her a genuine smile.

"They're carrying _sparklings_, Elita, they have _little ones_," Optimus said, his voice joyous once more. Maybe they had a chance to rebuild…but only after he had a proper recharge. He was due to be up in less than three hours.

Slag.

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Starscream smirked at the information that he'd been sent. There was a small shuttle of Neutrals inbound toward the Autobot base. If these Neutrals were anything like the ones he'd dealt with back on Cybertron, they wouldn't be carrying weapons. The thought of finally having a ship to travel among the stars was wonderful. Toss in the fact that there were femmes left…it was enough to make him light headed. They could take over this mud ball and rebuild Cybertron…

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Poor Optimus is having a bad day. :(


	19. In Which There is Defensor

Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Oh, and to answer a few questions: All political leaders that I have mentioned have no ties whatsoever to any political leaders we may have today.

And I really think this chapter is lame. :(

As for the extra chapter? I have the link posted in my bio, somewhere in the middle. It's definitely not something can handle. All that I ask in return is that if you aren't 18, please don't read it, okay?

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Starscream soared in the clouds, watching for the shuttle as it entered the atmosphere. He would tail it and shoot it. He wasn't going to damage it permanently, because he needed the ship. There, on the horizon, was a bright streak of light. The shuttle's nose glowed a brilliant fiery orange-yellow as they entered the atmosphere. Starscream maneuvered smoothly and waited in a large storm cloud. The shuttle flew over him and he shot out of the cloud. The shuttle banked as he came up beside it. Starscream growled.

He let off a few warning shots and opened a communication line.

"This is Starscream, leader of the decepticons. Land your ship and I won't shoot you out of the sky," he said maliciously, letting loose a second volley of laser blasts that skimmed the wings of the ship.

There was no response from the shuttle.

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Optimus was shaking in outrage as Silverbolt transmitted the image – Starscream was tailing the shuttle, shooting at it! His hands closed into fists and his anger bubbled into rage. No one, and he meant _no one_ messed with any ship carrying sparklings. Optimus felt his optic twitch and he barely managed to speak.

"Aerialbots, you have my permission to use any means necessary to take out Starscream," he hissed quietly, watching as Silverbolt and his men transform and take to the skies.

"Optimus Prime, tell your men to stand down! This is outrageous! Fighting in broad daylight over the _city_! You have no idea what kind of danger you're putting the city in! If there is so much as one scratch on anyone in the city you're going to have to answer to me!"

"Sir, the President's on the line," Prowl said, a tad bit unnecessarily. When Optimus turned to glare at him, Prowl gave him the most innocent look he could muster. Optimus only shook his head – Prowl and innocence did _not_ go together. Especially after the incident down in the store rooms…He shuddered. He did not want to go there again.

"Thank you, Prowl," Optimus said sarcastically, watching as his second in command smirk at him. Prowl leaned back in his chair casually. He was amused beyond all belief at the fact that Optimus was _slowly_ building up to a point where he would explode. When, Prowl didn't know. But he did know that it would be spectacular and he only hoped that he would be around to witness it.

"Mr. President. How may I help you," he asked politely, counting to twenty in Cybertronian, English, and two other languages. He then decided to screw that (he'd have to count to infinity) when the man finally spoke.

"_Tell your men to stand down or I will have the Air Force shoot them all from the sky!_"

Optimus stared up at the sky in disbelief. He'd had long ago given up on making the man see any kind of sense, but this was a new level of stupidity. How dare he-

"Prime, there's ten other jets up here! What do you want us to do?!" Silverbolt's voice burst over the com line, full of panic. There was no possible way that five aerialbots would be able to take on ten jets, engage Starscream and who-knew-how-many land based decepticons, _and _protect the shuttle, all at the same time.

"Do not engage, I repeat, _do not engage_."

"…yes, sir." Silverbolt and his men turned away, tailing the shuttle at a distance. Starscream, however, was cackling as he let loose another volley of lasers.

"Mr. President, I am trying to remain calm right now. That shuttle is full of Neutrals and you are not allowing us to follow our laws and protect them!" His voice had risen almost to a roar by the end of the sentence. There was a squawking noise from the other end of the phone before the man on the other end exploded.

"I will not stand for this any more! Have the shuttle land _now_ or it will be shot down."

Optimus all but growled as he relayed the information to Defensor, who immediately began descending. Starscream followed closely. Silverbolt and his men followed, too. The entire congregation was tailed by a squadron of 15 assorted jets, all being commanded by a familiar man – Air Commander Reginald Anderson. Silverbolt, in desperation, opened a link to the man.

"Commander Anderson?"

"Who is this," the man asked, startled out of his wits. Wait a tic, he knew that voice! "Is that you, Commander Silverbolt?"

"Yes, sir, please try and talk some sense into your President! Starscream is going to shoot the shuttle down!"

"Commander, I can't do anything about it. I'm under direct orders to shoot you down if you engage in any type of fighting," he said quietly, sighing. He really respected the fellow commander – they'd both seen too many battles to count, they'd both been to Hell and back, and they'd both lost too many loved ones.

"Please, there are younglings on board," Silverbolt said weakly, in a last ditch attempt.

"What's on board?"

"…there are c_hildren _on board"

Air Commander Anderson nearly stopped breathing when Silverbolt's normally majestic voice had gone from commanding and powerful to broken and soft. Anderson decided that it was high time to retire – besides, he'd already gotten his pension paid and he was overdue for his vacation in Hawaii.

"This is Air Commander Reginald Anderson to all units. You are not to shoot at the five aerialbots or the shuttle. If Starscream, the F-22 releases another volley of shots, you are to shoot him and only him. Am I understood?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Roger that, sir." Ten voices rang out over the comm.. Seven of those pilots, including Anderson, had been there when Silverbolt had showed up and saved their skins. They all owed the jets their lives – and they were not going to shoot down their saviors. Starscream let loose another round of laser fire and was surprised as fifteen jets suddenly accelerated at him. Anderson was on Starscream again and he opened a direct line to Starscream (he'd learned some pretty nifty things from some of the liaisons).

"Well hello there, Starscream, you remember me?"

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Prime watched in fascination as all fifteen fighters tore after Starscream. His last volley of laser fire had been interrupted. Then he smiled as Silverbolt sent two of his men to escort the shuttle. Two of the human jets broke away as well, determined to keep them safe. Four land based decepticons sprang out from their camouflaged areas and began shooting wildly at the shuttle and its escort. The two human jets immediately responded, letting loose their own shots. Prime felt a bubble of pride rise up in his chest as the humans valiantly defended the shuttle. The land bound mechs retreated and disappeared.

"This is not happening you are overstepping your bounds! You'd do well to remember that I'm the one that decides whether or not you stay and it's looking pretty grim now!" The President was hysterical.

Finally, Starscream was driven away and the shuttle landed. The other jets landed around the shuttle at random intervals. The shuttle's belly distended and lowered to the ground, creating a stairway for whoever it was within. Defensor stepped out of the ship, his black paint gleaming in the sunlight. He said something softly to Silverbolt, placing a hand on his shoulder. Silverbolt shook his head and motioned down to the man by his leg. Air Commander Anderson had never been so shocked before in his life. He knew that the aliens were big, but nothing could have prepared him for a thirty foot tall mech to kneel beside him.

"Commander Anderson, I and my charges owe you our lives. For that, we will be forever in your debt. You had no need to disobey your orders, yet you did so to protect us. Your acts of kindness will not be forgotten," Defensor said. A small green youngling clambered out of the ship and ran up to Defensor, clicking and squeaking.

"Is…is that a baby robot?" Anderson asked. The green creature squeaked suddenly and shyly buried its face in Defensor's leg. He chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, these are our little ones. I can't begin to thank you enough for protecting them," Defensor said, gathering the green youngling in his arms and standing.

"You're welcome…ah…I never got your name."

"My name is Defensor."

"You're welcome, and if you need anything, just let us know," Anderson said, motioning to himself and his crew. Elizabeth, his second in command was currently 'aww'ing over the little bundle of green. It seemed that no matter what the species was, big eyes and a cute face won females over. Defensor only smiled and bid them goodbye.

One of the mechs had the sick sparkling in his arms.

"Take her to the base. We'll bring the supplies in later," Defensor said.

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Curious optics followed the congregation of Neutral mechs. Most of the mechs stared because not many of them had thought that any Neutrals survived, much less a Neutral sparkling. The lead mech was carrying a tiny orange bundle…which wasn't moving. The small group was being led by Red Alert, who was about to fritz. There was too much to deal with – ex-decepticons living on the base, a group of unknown, unmarked, and unpredictable mechs, a set of sparklings, and the President. His computing center was just about to fizzle out…again.

He led the small group into the medical bay, where Ratchet was waiting. Chromia, Elita, and Nightshade were in there, also. Technically, they weren't supposed to be in there, but Ratchet had specifically asked for the femmes to be present while he worked on the little one. It was well known that all femmes shared a weak bond between one another. Femmes also shared a weak bond with all sparklings in general. In fact, sparklings depended on their bond with femmes – it was critical for their health.

Ratchet was correct in bringing the femmes in. Within minutes, the sparkling was online and clicking excitedly up at the females, waving her tiny hands up at them. The only thing that'd been wrong with the little one was that she hadn't had any female contact in years and it'd been hurting the little one. Nightshade was completely absorbed in the tiny bundle on the table and she slowly reached her hand out. The little one took her hand and started squeaking, begging to be held closely. Nightshade's face turned into one of pure awe as the little one began squeezing her fingers.

"Pick her up," Chromia suggested quietly, a small smile on her face. Nightshade looked up to the mech that had brought the sparkling in for permission. He nodded, curious to see the interaction between the femme and little one. Nightshade gently scooped up the sparkling into her arms. Chromia reached over and helped Nightshade adjust the little one in her arms. The sparkling squeaked and shuttered its optics, yawning softly. She turned and nestled into Nightshade's chassis, lulled into recharge by the femme's pump beat. Nightshade was completely enraptured by the tiny sparkling in her arms.

Elita then noticed the look on Ratchet's face (he'd been thinking something along the lines of "Take it away from her before she decides she wants one".) and smirked.

"Oh, Nightshade, you look so natural with a little one in your arms," Elita cooed softly, sitting beside her and stroking the sparkling's little arm. The look that crossed Ratchet's face did not go unnoticed by either Chromia or Elita, who both shot him smirks. Well, if their mates wouldn't give them sparklings…

"Her name is Ember," the mech added helpfully. Ember balled up her little hand and stuffed it in her mouth, making a soft noise while she curled up even tighter into Nightshade's chassis. Nightshade only leaned against the wall, smiling dreamily down at the bundle in her arms.

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He watched on as Nightshade cradled the little on in her arms. Well, this was an interesting development. He honestly hadn't meant the shuttle any harm, but once he realized that Starscream intended on killing one inside, he'd managed to throw Starscream's targeting systems off. Meaning, that Starscream could not aim properly. What the Autobots and humans didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

He sighed tiredly and went back to sleep. His work was draining him.

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Two hours later, Ratchet had finished talking with the mech that'd brought Ember in. He looked over at Nightshade, who was recharging away. She was leaning against the wall, the sparkling lying across her chassis. Ember clicked sleepily a few times and snuggled

into Nightshade's arms, burying her tiny face into the armor below her. The mech who'd brought Ember in (who was named Sirius) approached Nightshade slowly, wanting to take Ember back. He reached for Ember and had almost dislodged the sparkling when he suddenly found himself on his aft, staring down the barrel of a hand held plasma gun. He almost lubricated on himself when it began to whine and charge.

Ember was clutched protectively against Nightshade's chassis. Ember started clicking angrily, having been roused from her recharge far too early. Ratchet just stared. Where the slag did she get a weapon from? Elita jolted out of her recharge (she'd been sitting in a separate corner with the other sparkling). She almost burst into laughter at the look of pure terror on Sirius's face.

"Nightshade, calm down. He's not going to hurt Ember," Elita said softly, toward the femme. Nightshade blinked and shook her head. What had just happened?

Ember's squeals were starting to turn into wails and Nightshade hurriedly began to click to the bundle in her arms. Ember eventually quieted down and sat in Nightshade's lap. She curiously watched the scene unfold with big amber optics, with her hand in her mouth, as Ratchet helped the shaken mech stand from his spot on the floor.

"And that is exactly why you don't try and take a sparkling from a femme," Ratchet quipped, smirking at Sirius.

"At least I won't have to deal with a femme that intends on getting pregnant," Sirius hissed back.

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Starscream smirked as the decepticons on the ground below him relayed their information. Good. They had succeeded in their mission. Distract the autobots, get the access codes, and infiltrate the base. Good thing they had drones left over from experiments.

He accessed the first drone, which was hiding in the ceiling, jumbled amongst the pipes. The drone beeped once to acknowledge Starscream's presence. The drone then began to do what was in its programming. The drone peeled one of the pipes open, revealing a jumbled mass of wires. Selecting one specific wire, the drone wrapped a cable around it, beeping once more as the connection uploaded. The drone then went offline as one of the decepticons back on base hacked the system.

Starscream actually grinned when they went through the personnel files – they had at least twenty femmes! He stored this tidbit of information away and went after three very specific files – Chromia, Elita, and Nightshade. He smirked as he realized that the last femme was bonded…to the medical terror known as Ratchet. His plan would definitely work now. He then began typing up a short message classified as a "top secret" mission. Then he smirked as he then encrypted the message, authenticating it with Prime's own identification number sequence.

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Elita and Chromia met up outside of the base and nodded to one another subtly, taking their weapons out. They plunged into the forest. When Nightshade showed up, they knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Nightshade was not built for any kind of spying or reconnaissance mission. Plus, she was loud.

"Elita, what's going on? Why am I meeting you guys here?"

"We need to get back to the base now," Chromia snapped, leading the two femmes back the way they came. Elita sent an SOS out on every available radio frequency. Her signal was blocked, the radio waves bouncing back at her.

"Shock Wave," she hissed, pulling her weapon out. Nightshade was given a small, hand held gun and told to shoot anything that had a decepticon insignia, and to keep shooting until it was dead. Nightshade gulped in terror and the femmes gathered in a circle, their backs together. The bushes parted on one side of the clearing. Nightshade took aim and let off a round, shooting the mech effectively through the shoulder.

"DECEPTICONS ATTACK!"

The femmes scattered as Shock Wave leapt into the fray, his eye seeking out the femmes. Chromia and Elita both sent up jamming signals to mask their sparks. They realized too late that Nightshade had no defense of any kind, except for her speed. Shock Wave leapt at the small femme.

"Mission: Capture femme." His cold mechanical voice had all three femmes freezing. Nightshade rolled, barely able to dodge each one of his attacks. Chromia and Elita grabbed Nightshade's arms and they took off into the forest, back toward the base. If they could just get out of range of Shock Wave's jamming signal they would be able to send out an SOS, Silverbolt and his men would show up and kick Starscream's aft….

The femmes sent out one distress message after another, on every single radio frequency they could. Shock Wave's cold voice suddenly went silent. Chromia went down as a second mech jumped out of nowhere and grabbed her. She shrieked and began kicking and screaming.

"GO," Chromia bellowed, trying to free herself. Elita and Nightshade hesitated for a split second but kept going.

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Ironhide yelled and clutched at his chest, the sudden ice-cold terror stabbing through his spark. Then their bond went silent. The entire base heard Ironhide's roar of rage as he shot out of his room, cannons blazing.

"What's the matter, Ironhide, what's going on?!"

"LET ME GO! CHROMIA IS IN TROUBLE!"

"Where is she," Optimus asked. He hadn't felt anything from Elita. The fact that she had thrown up a spark masking signature meant that he couldn't feel anything but her presence. Then Optimus realized that something was very wrong – he couldn't feel anything BUT her presence.

"Where is Nightshade," Ratchet said, having tracked down Ironhide and his bellows of rage and pain. Ratchet was no different, except his rage was bubbling up inside of him. Nightshade's half of the bond was filled with pure terror. It was pure agony for him not to be able to get to her and kill whatever was scaring her.

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Nightshade was running, continuing her broadcasting of SOS messages. Elita had been taken a few minutes ago, but not quietly. Elita had managed to shoot one of her attackers in the interface unit before she was silenced with a blow to the back of the head.

Nightshade was hopelessly lost. She was a dancer, not a fighter! She didn't have an alternate mode, she didn't have GPS, and she didn't have a weapon – Ratchet had confiscated the gun she had gotten from Chromia! (Chromia was to blame for everything, she mused.) Nightshade, to put in a nutshell, was completely fragged. Then, as she passed a radio tower, an idea hit her.

She immediately wrapped a wire from her wrist around the tower, using the tower to amplify her message. With any luck, the autobot base would pick up the frequency.

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The autobot base did pick up the SOS frequency. However, the radio tower was broadcasting to eight different satellites, which were connected to terminals all over the world. Television programs were interrupted, cell phone calls were dropped, and internet connections were jammed. In New York Times Square, the giant LCD screen on display went blue for a second, and then rows and rows of Cybertronian letters and numbers flashed across the screen. Then came Nightshade's terrified voice.

"If anyone is getting this message, we need help! I'm two miles north of the autobot base of operations in California, my teammates have been taken and I need help! The decepticons are jamming our spark and radio signals!" Then she broadcast images of what was around her, including a rough star chart. Then she sent out pictures of Shock Wave and Starscream, and a pair of dark pictures of the two mechs that had taken Elita and Chromia.

"I don't have much time left before this message is interrupted but please send this message to the autobot base of operations-"

The message fizzled and went out. This left a few hundred million people in shock and confusion.

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: O

Oh no, what happens next?? The Prez is gonna be pissed. :P

Ya see what I mean by lame? That was the only idea I could think of to get the femmes out of the base…other than a fight, but that was a little far fetched – why would Starscream risk having the last 10 or so decepticons killed just to get the three chickas.

Well, there was a third idea but that involved saran wrap and duct tape…


	20. In Which There is Pain

Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. However, I do own Nightshade and the twins - Ember and Evergreen. :P

Okay. The sparkling/femme bond credit goes to Litahatchee. :D Totally forgot to put that in the last chapter.

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Starscream had located the femme just as she finished sending the coordinates and pictures, and he was angry. Maybe angry didn't quite cover it. Steam literally oozed from his exhausts, a sign of his internal temperatures sky rocketing. Not only were the autobots after them, now they had several million meat bags (a.k.a. humans) astutely aware of their presence! He'd been counting on their denied existence, but slag it all to pit the femme just blew their cover! He landed behind her, stalking up to her. So absorbed was she in her work that she didn't notice him. He grabbed her shoulder and roughly shoved her from the tower. She squeaked and fel, landing hard in the packed dirt.

"You are going to pay dearly for what you have just done, femme," Starscream hissed, towering over the small blue femme. She was terrified but she stood, ready to fight for her life. Starscream only laughed as the femme backed away slowly, her optics darting around, searching for escape He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the radio tower. It creaked and groaned, leaning dangerously. The power lines to the tower broke and fell, showering the both of them in sparks.

"What are you going to do, little Nightshade? Run? Hit me?" His voice was soft and mocking. A dangerous smirk graced his features. He trailed one hand down her smooth chassis, touching the Autobot insignia before ripping it off and throwing it into the grass. He rested his hand on her hip, licking his lips as his optics greedily took in every inch of her smooth body.

"Such a pretty little femme…too bad you are already bonded. I wouldn't have to work so hard to make you mine," he snarled, the hand around her throat tightening. Her optics widened as she realized his intent.

"Go frag yourself," she hissed. Then she kicked her leg out as hard as she could, nailing him right in the interface unit. He howled in pain and Nightshade laughed. The laugh turned into a yelp of pain as she suddenly found herself on the ground, having been thrown halfway across the clearing. Starscream pulled a rifle out of nowhere and advanced.

Then everything went dark.

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Ratchet almost dropped to his knees. Nightshade's half of the bond was filled with pain and terror, almost overwhelming his half of the bond. At the last second he threw up a firewall, and managed to avoid being off-lined by the amount of pain his femme was being subjected to. Then his rage bubbled over. Something snapped inside of him and he slowly stood up. He spoke calmly and softly. A few of the mechs around him shivered in fear as his optics came on line. They glowed white, the only outward show of his true anger.

"You had better hope that you find Starscream before I do," he hissed, starting to go for the door. Optimus faced a dilemma. Ratchet, in his rage, would be a force to be reckoned with. If he tried to subdue him here, his men would take heavy damage. Any one who got between a mech and his femme would have Pit to pay, especially if the femme was being hurt. However, if he let Ratchet leave the base in this state, the mech would level anything in his path – including humans and their settlements.

He decided to take his chances. Optimus gently placed a warm hand on his friend's shoulder, speaking softly.

"Ratchet, we'll find Starscream and the femmes, I promise you that. I can't let you leave the base in your state, you'll kill someone."

Ratchet only hissed quietly, glaring up at the autobot leader. However, Optimus's words had sunk through the thick veil of rage clouding his processor.

"Starscream is mine, Prime. I _will_ kill him," Ratchet said, his optics flickering back into their familiar shade of azure. Optimus felt a slight tremor of fear go through his body as he found himself believing Ratchet's threat.

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Nightshade slowly came back online, her optics flickering tiredly. She groaned softly, rubbing at a massive dent in the back of her head. Discreetly, she ran a systems check. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Why hadn't Starscream finished her off?

"You awake, babe?" Chromia's voice came from one of the cells beside her.

"I feel like Sky Lynx sat on me," she groaned, rubbing her aching cranial unit, ignoring Chromia's snort of laughter. Chromia only shook her head. They were in a decepticon base, in the decepticon brig, with who-knows-what about to happen to them, and here Nightshade was, cracking lame jokes.

"Nightshade, do you realize what you did," Elita's amused voice came from another cell.

"What did I do?"

"You tapped into a broadcasting satellite and sent out an SOS," Elita said. Nightshade could hear the smallest of smiles in her voice.

"That's good, right?"

"Yes, Optimus got the message…along with several million humans," Elita finished. Nightshade groaned.

"Optimus is going to kill me. You know how much paper work he's going to have to fill out?!"

Nightshade encrypted a message and sent it to both femmes. As she had sat up on the berth, she felt some of her medical tools shift in her arm. She still had her welder, which meant that they had a chance to escape.

**Can you see or detect any cameras or anything like that? I still have my welder.**

Elita and Chromia both responded with no, so Nightshade pulled her welder out of her wrist compartment and began melting a bar close to the wall. With her luck, no one would notice it missing. Even with the bar missing and her slender frame, it was still difficult to slip out of the cell. She darted over to Chromia, who was sporting some champion sized dents and a giant, victorious smirk on her face. Nightshade vaguely wondered what Chromia had done to earn those dents and that smirk. She melted the bar away and helped Chromia out of her cell.

The mech sitting in the corner almost snorted and gave himself away as Chromia started swearing up a storm. Now, Chromia was one of the curvier, more well endowed femmes. She was designed for firepower, not speed, like Elita or Nightshade. Her weapons and ammo were stored in her leg and hip compartments, giving her a rather curvy appearance – which Ironhide strongly approved of. Her large chest barely scraped through the gap. Then she realized that she was stuck…her aft and hips were preventing any kind of escape.

While the situation was dire, Nightshade still found herself giggling at Chromia's predicament. The femme was about to shriek bloody murder but Nightshade took mercy on the femme and heated the bar just enough to make it bend slightly. Chromia slipped out and landed with a loud thunk on the floor. The femme started cursing under her breath, a combination of English and Cybertronian, making the other two femmes (and the male in the corner) blush slightly.

Nightshade and Chromia went over to the cell holding Elita, who was sitting on the edge of the rough recharge berth. She had been sitting with her legs crossed at the ankle, back straight, and her hands in her lap. What a time to remember her etiquette training. Once the bars were melted and Elita had slipped out, they made it to the door and were hacking the code when the mech spoke.

"Nice try, femmes," he said, standing. Elita yelped and backed away. This mech was absolutely gigantic compared to the three of them. He was easily forty feet tall, if not taller, and probably just as wide. How had they not noticed him?

"Where the Pit did you come from," Chromia asked, dropping the pick in her hand. The mech only smiled at her as he spoke.

"I am Thundercracker, one of Starscream's men. Give me the welder," he said, bending down so that Nightshade could place the welder in the palm of his hand. He crushed it easily and flicked the bits of metal away.

"I will not harm the three of you, if you answer my question," the mech said, speaking softly. He narrowed his optics at the femmes as they glanced at one another.

"What do you want," Elita asked suspiciously.

"Can I still ask Prime for forgiveness and defect?"

"He will grant you forgiveness. He would never say no," Elita said. That was one of the things that she'd fallen for in Optimus – he was kind, noble, and gentle. He had mercy for anyone who asked for forgiveness.

"Good. Starscream has gone too far," Thundercracker said absently, repairing the bars of the cells. He took a step back, squinting an optic at his work. Then he reached out and tugged on the metal bars. They didn't so much as budge. Satisfied with his work, he looked back at the femmes.

"What do you mean?" Chromia was confused, but still jumped at the opportunity of a possible ally within enemy territory. Besides – Thundercracker was not known for his thinking abilities. They might be able to extract information from him.

"There were sparklings aboard the shuttle, weren't there?"

"Uhm…yes," Nightshade said, ignoring the glare that she received from Elita. What? He was a genuine mech – he wasn't lying, period.

"There. Now go back to your cells before Shock Wave comes back," he said, politely holding the door open for each femme.

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"Thundercracker?"

Nightshade's soft voice rang out over the silent room.

"Yes?"

"If you won't get in trouble, I've been meaning to ask something. I heard some of the mechs back home talking about a traitor on our base. Do you know who it was?"

Thundercracker sighed heavily and nodded.

"I can't tell you that right now…all I will say is that it's not what it seems," Thundercracker finished softly, and went back to his post. Elita sat back and pondered his comment.

If things were not as they seemed, perhaps they were actually being helped? Strangely enough, they had found one of the decepticon bases earlier that month – without any outside information. The information had suddenly appeared in the computer. Was this supposed traitor double crossing Starscream? If this was the case, what was the purpose of those actions? What would it accomplish? They had been captured…but Nightshade had also, inadvertently, revealed their existence to the humans…was the traitor counting on something like this, or did they _know_ that something like this was going to happen?

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The supposed traitor smirked victoriously. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place rather nicely. He began the next part of his plot – he'd be able to keep this planet safe and carry out his duties as protector. While he was powerful, he would not be able to restore Cybertron. He would find a home for their people, even if it meant living alongside the humans. They were a brilliant race, but relatively young.

With that thought pushed aside, the traitor began to rest once more, saving up his energy.

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Frenzy skittered to a console, typing away madly. He was talking to himself, chattering and squealing. He carried a cup of coffee in one clawed hand. Pausing to take a sip of the aromatic coffee, he realized something. Something in his computing center snapped and he shrieked, taking off and running at Barricade. The coffee flew through the air, landing on a minibot named Gears.

"Barribarribarricadefemmesneedhelp!"

"I think we know that," the black and white cruiser said, glaring mildly down at the hacker. But then Frenzy elaborated on his theory and Barricade's optics darkened considerably. The theory of what Starscream wanted to do was bordering near blasphemous. It was considered as one of the few unforgivable sins of their culture.

Barricade hissed – not even when he'd been a decepticon had he even remotely considered something like that!

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"Thundercracker, bring me the dancer," Starscream sent over the com. Thundercracker only sighed as he unlocked the door to Nightshade's cell. The femme looked frightened but stood anyway, determined. She wasn't going to back down from the freak that had kidnapped her and her friends.

"Starscream wants to see you," Thundercracker said, motioning for the femme to follow him. Nightshade nodded and followed, ignoring the protests coming from Elita and Chromia's cells. Nightshade was determined to be brave – she'd had it with being the damsel in distress. She was going to get through this...and maybe kick some aft along the way.

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Starscream smirked as the femme followed Thundercracker into the room. Upon entering the room, her nose plates curled in disgust. She made absolutely sure not to make contact with anything in the room – it was filthy! She looked him directly in the optic, defiant. Starscream purred. He was going to enjoy breaking the femme.

"Come here," he commanded, beckoning her over with one clawed hand. She slowly – and with defiance marking her every motion – made her way over to him.

"What do you want," she said, glaring at him.

"Ah, you've recently bonded with the medic, have you? Good, good. This will work out just perfectly," Starscream said, standing and walking around the femme. His lecherous gaze sliding over her body, and she refused to let it bother her. However, she was curious.

"What the slag do you mean," she asked, crossing her arms delicately.

"Oh, nothing much. The bond between you and your mate can be broken," he said absently, stopping in front of her. She gave a short bark of laughter. Starscream's smirk only grew wider.

"Oh, believe me femme. You and the mech bonded only days ago, am I correct? Your bond hasn't had time to become an integral part of your systems. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be begging for mercy," Starscream hissed down at the femme, smirking.

A bond could be forced on any unbonded femme or mech, but not without dire consequences. The one who forced the bond would have to answer to Primus himself, but that was a completely different story. Theoretically speaking, Starscream could break the bond between Nightshade and Ratchet. He would only have to force her spark to join with his a few times and establish himself as the dominant male in her life. Then, the medic would most likely die, but not before Starscream forced him to resurrect his fallen and loyal seekers, and the rest of Bruticus.

"Go frag yourself," she said as politely as she could. He grabbed her face and forced her to look up at her. She jerked out of his grip and gave him a solid punch to an exposed energon line. He didn't so much as flinch, though a punch like that had to have hurt. He threw her to the floor and smirked down at her. Then she raised a middle finger and told him to shove a pipe up his exhaust.

"Ooh, a feisty one…I'm going to enjoy every moment with you," he purred softly, motioning for Thundercracker to return the femme to her cell.

"The autobots have two days to get me what I want, femme, or you will be mine."

His voice echoed after her in the hallway.

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Optimus Prime nearly choked when he received the transmission. It was a highly encoded videostream. From whom, he did not know, but he had Prowl and Red Alert scan for anomalies or glitches, but they found none. So he opened it. As he watched, his optics grew bigger and bigger.

"Optimus Prime, my name is Thundercracker. I am-well, was a decepticon. The only reason I am still here with Starscream is because I am acting under a higher authority's command. Starscream's base of operations can be found at these coordinates. Elita One and Chromia are quite safe. I wish I could say the same for Nightshade. Starscream intends on harming her to get to your medic and the remaining shard of the AllSpark. For her sake, please hurry."

Optimus was shell shocked – under whose authority was Thundercracker acting? Was this some sort of trap? What was going to happen to Nightshade?

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Optimus and his group of men had decided on a course of action. Starscream had at least ten loyal decepticons left. So, with that in mind, Optimus asked that Silverbolt bring his men, along with Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, and Jazz. Then he received the transmission – from Starscream. Ratchet was brought along only for the sake of his sanity and so that Ratchet wouldn't slag the base or his comrades.

"Prime, you have two days to bring me the remaining shard of the AllSpark and your medic," Starscream said, bluntly, "Or else Elita and Chromia will die."

"What about Nightshade? And what do you want with the shard?"

"I have plans for the femme. As for the shard, wouldn't you like to know?"

The message fizzled out.

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It was the second day and Optimus still hadn't responded to his message or thinly veiled threats. Starscream decided to give him two more hours before he made his move. Besides, it was only four in the afternoon and he had things to do – like prepare his quarters for the femme.

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Bleh. :P

Starscream is a smarmy little bugger.

BTW, I'm exempt from most of my exams - I'm not sure on one of my classes. Pre-Cal. Urgh. shudders Hope that I'm exempt, cos if I am, there will be more smut. ;)


	21. In Which There is Starscream

Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. I only own Nightshade and the two sparklings on the shuttle.

Dude, ff is messing everything up. : 

Oh yes. To answer a question.

Yes, Ratchet&Nightshade's sparks are compatible, meaning they can bond themselves together. It doesn't mean that they can't do it with anyone else, which is considered cheating, but then again, in Nightshade's case, it would be called rape. :P

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Nightshade was watching her internal chronometer count down. Would Optimus abandon her and her two friends? Most likely not, but what the slag was Starscream trying to do by forcing her to bond with him? The cell door was opened by a mech she did not know. Thundercracker, their self-appointed guardian, had been put on patrol duty. The unknown mech grinned lecherously at her and grabbed her arm, forcing her to her feet. Ignoring the cries of outrage from the other two femmes, he shoved her toward the door, taking special care not to scratch her paint. Starscream had specifically ordered him not to damage the femme.

"Where are you going with her, you slag-head?!" A spare piece of machinery hit him in the back of the head as Chromia vented her anger. The mech only smirked as he realized that Nightshade hadn't told them what her fate was to be.

"Didn't she tell you what Starscream would do to her if Prime didn't show up?"

Silence.

"Guessing by the looks on your face, she didn't. Well I'll tell you, just because I'm a nice mech. Starscream is gonna force bond with her," the mech said, typing in the exit codes for the door. Elita and Chromia both started shrieking at him, trying to get out of their cells to help their friend – but it was too late. The door had slid shut behind the mech just as Elita wriggled free of her confinement.

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The mech tried to push her once more but she refused to budge. He then proceeded to pick her up and sling her over his shoulder. She began hitting every bare wire and chip she could reach, screaming bloody murder. By the time the mech had reached Starscream's quarters, he was about ready to kill the femme. The femme had ripped out several wires and smashed a few chips, but hadn't caused any permanent damage. His aft would be tingling for days afterward though.

The mech threw her down on the floor, only to be kicked in the shin a few times. The mech grunted and took out a dagger, ready to kill her. Starscream roughly pulled her to her feet and dismissed the underling. He then appraised the femme, noting how dirty and dusty she was.

"Go clean yourself up," he said, scowling, and shoving her toward the waiting pool of cleaning fluid. She growled in defiance, crossing her arms over her chassis.

"How the slag did you get so dirty?" He muttered the question, not expecting an answer.

"Well, I've only been in your brig for two days, after being slammed into the ground, and oh, let's not forget the fact that you chased me for an hour through the woods. Does that answer your question?"

A loud crack sounded throughout the room. Nightshade clutched at her cheek plate, her optics narrowed. He made to hit her again but stopped. He wouldn't ruin perfection, not at least until he was through with her.

"Do you want me to bathe you? You have fifteen minutes, or else I'll come in there," he growled at the femme.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Starscream barged into the room. Nightshade had been drying her armor off. Starscream grabbed her arm and dragged her to the room, ignoring her protests and the punches that she threw at him.

"We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way, femme," he finally said, after the femme had wrenched her arm out of his grip.

"I think you know what I'm going to say, bastard," she hissed, backing away from the advancing mech. He grabbed her and slammed her into the berth, pinning her arms down beside her. She began struggling, trying to dislodge the mech. However, he was undeterred. He began running his hands across the smooth planes of her body, squeezing receptors as he went along.

Nightshade was horrified to feel his interface unit heat up and he reached between her legs. She nearly gagged as she felt his clawed fingertips drag across her armor, pinning her down with the other hand. She clamped her legs shut, kicking at him viciously, as he tried to pry open her interface unit.

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Ratchet felt fear, pain, and desperation emanating from Nightshade's half of the bond. He and Ironhide were currently stationed just a few meters away from the entrance of the decepticon base, waiting for Thundercracker to let them in. The base door opened and Thundercracker's head poked out. He motioned the group of Autobots inside. The autobots immediately disabled the base's defenses.

"You need to take me out as well," Thundercracker said, scratching up his paint job to make it look like they had fought. Ratchet nodded and gave him a mild sedative. Jazz and Optimus went on ahead, scouting for the brig. After a long trip involving taking out a few of the decepticons, they found the brig.

Ratchet's optics blazed white in rage when he realized what was happening to Nightshade. He could sense a male near her, trying to encroach on _his _territory. Ironhide turned as he heard the chilling snarl leave Ratchet's vocal processors. Ratchet's optics had gone from white to blood red, and he stood stock still. Ironhide spoke gently, trying to shake his friend out of his stupor.

He realized it was in vain as he looked into Ratchet's glazed-over optics. There was nothing but pure rage in them, bent on getting revenge.

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Nightshade bit back a yelp of pain as Starscream tried to pry her interface port open. He was using the digits of one hand, trying to push the offending piece of armor out of the way. The metal buckled but still refused to open.

He gave up and snarled.

"I don't need to join with you to bond, anyway," he said, straddling her legs. He used one hand to pin both of hers above her head. The digits of the other hand scraped against her chassis, trying to force it open. She managed to get one hand loose and give him a hard punch to the nasal plate, shattering it. He yelled, clutching at the broken metal. Starscream snarled down at her and gave her a punch that knocked her out cold.

He began trying to pry her chassis open. It took him several minutes to pry the armor open, having had to have bypass her self-defense systems. He was rewarded with a few nasty shocks, leaving his entire body tingling painfully. Then he ripped out the offending wires, effectively rendering her defenseless. Starscream sat back on his heels, trying to figure out a way to pry her spark chamber open without damaging her carrying abilities – he had plans for this femme.

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I wonder if Ratchet makes it in time to save her...I might just change my mind and make this an angst story. :O


	22. In Which There is Angst

Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. :P Except for maybe my OCs.

Warning: This chapter is pretty intense (well. At least to me).

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As a rule, mechs were extremely protective of their mates – especially if they were bonded. Femmes were just as protective of their mates as well, but mechs tended to have much more firepower than femmes. They were also very territorial. No one knew where this part of mech physiology came from, but somehow, it was evident in every single mech. Sometimes it was present in femmes, but not always.

Therefore, a mech protecting his femme was not someone to cross.

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Even though Ratchet had pretty much gone nutters, he was still vaguely aware of what was happening around him, being able to hear loud noises and sense his mate's half of the bond. He distantly felt pain from Nightshade, but that had dulled considerably. Mere seconds later, he felt – rather, sensed - the male's spark chamber open. The mere thought of another spark going anywhere near Nightshade's was enough to send whatever was left of Ratchet's self control down the drain. The medic took off running, followed by a cursing Ironhide. Who knew that Ratchet could run so quickly?

Ironhide was a slow runner. He was built for strength, not speed, period. Ironhide could vaguely hear shooting and yells of pain echoing down the long corridors and he called for back up. Optimus and the gang responded, pouring into the hallway behind him. Elita and Chromia caught up to him…and passed him. Optimus passed him as well, shooting him an amused look. Optimus's rather long and built legs carried him further down the hallway, leaving Ironhide in the dust.

"Wait the slag up," he managed to call out, growling. Finally he transformed. At least as a truck he could catch up.

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Nightshade was swimming in and out of consciousness. Something was happening to her but she couldn't move. He had disabled her motor commands somehow. More pain radiated from her chassis as Starscream ripped another wire out. She twitched involuntarily and desperation almost flooded her body.

Starscream peered down at the limp form of the femme. He plucked another wire from her chest and was rewarded with a nasty shock. He growled and continued searching for a way to open her spark chamber.

The pulsating blue shard of light was hidden behind its opaque covering, the radiant cobalt light no more than an inch from his claws. He almost howled in frustration. Starscream knew there was a way to induce the chamber to open on its own, they used it in medical procedures! Why the slag could he not remember how to do it? He continued digging through the bundles of brightly colored wires, trying to jog his memory banks into giving up the elusive bit of information. His spark began flaring hotly as he gazed down at her spark. The sphere in her chest was pure and beautiful, untouched by the evil and despair of the war. Starscream started, his claws clumsily scrapping over her frame. A femme like that was hard to find: most were dead and a good percentage of the ones that remained were bonded or formally mated to a mech. Starscream could only imagine how sweet it would be to join sparks with little Nightshade. Her untouched virtue would be bliss for his tortured and pained spark... His only regret was not getting to her sooner – he knew that she had not been with another before the medic – and he could have been her first in every aspect.

Her spark was emitting a few weak flashes, a distress call to its other half. The medic would arrive soon. He had to finish quickly or else he was going to join Megatron in his lonely grave.

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Five minutes later and he couldn't get it open. He remembered something – sometimes if a spark was exposed to another it would open. Starscream opened the plates on his chest and hovered above her. Nightshade's internal systems whirred softly, fighting to both open and stay shut. He pressed closer. Nightshade's fingers twitched gently, a sign that she was coming out of recharge.

She panicked when she woke up with Starscream hovering over her, his spark chamber open. Nightshade shoved at him, startling him. He had been so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the femme moving. He landed heavily on his aft. He snarled and sprang back up, pinning her once more.

"Femme, don't test me," he growled, "Now open your spark chamber."

"Like slag I will," she hissed, struggling weakly. Her spark called for Ratchet's desperately, crying for help. Why had he failed to protect her? She shouldn't have even be put in this situation, it was his job to protect her…He had sworn a sacred oath to defend her with his life, if need be, but he wasn't there. She was in turmoil, struggling to keep her spark chamber shut. Nightshade then realized with horror that she was potentially compatible with Starscream. Her spark painfully deviated from its normal harmony, fluttering in cadence with Starscream's when he pressed his chest against hers. Nightshade knew she wasn't going to be able to fight him much longer. She was steadily growing weaker, her energon reserves almost critical.

Starscream looked down when she stopped struggling. There was a strange look on her face…she was doing something to her programming. Finally her optics brightened and she smirked up at him.

"Are you going to make this easier, femme?"

"No, but you should know that I've corrupted my files. If anyone but my mate touches my spark and I will deactivate."

Starscream almost howled in anger. He'd heard of things like this happening. Femmes desperate enough not to be forced to carry or to mate could technically corrupt their own files and cause their systems to crash. That process was a last ditch defense if nothing else worked...and it was almost always fatal. Then after realizing something, he smirked down at her.

"Sweet little Nightshade…that won't work."

Her optics narrowed. She specifically encoded her systems only to respond to her mate…

"And why would that be," she drawled out. Her optics narrowed further when one claw gently stroked the side of her face.

"Did you really think I picked you based on your looks? Or the fact that you are a dancer?"

She didn't answer and he chuckled.

"I picked you because your spark can bind with mine. We're not a perfect match but we're close enough. You see? It's already altering its harmony to match mine," he said softly, placing a soft kiss on her lips. She snarled viciously at him and her struggle began once more, but in pure desperation.

Absolute terror filled her spark as Starscream reached into her chassis once more and tinkered around with her wiring.

**Emergency stasis lock to begin in sixty seconds.**

"Now, you won't be able to alter your coding," Starscream said softly, a smirk on his face. Nightshade glared up at him and changed what she could before her systems shut down.

…_authorization code alpha-145.332788- theta-10010-Pi…initiate emergency defense backup systems… Spark chamber will not open until medic with authorization code initiates system restore._

_**Warning: IF NOT REVERSED WITHIN ONE CYCLE, CARRYING FILES **_**WILL BE DELETED**

**Continue?**

…

…_**.yes.**_

Then everything went started hazing as her systems initiated a cascade failure. She managed to speak before her vocalizers were shut down. It was a desperate bluff to throw him off long enough for Ratchet to save her.

"Touch my spark…my carrying files _will_ be deleted…"

The last thing she saw was a shocked mech.  
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A sense of desperation alighted on Ratchet's frame, sending cold waves of unease into his spark. He could barely feel her half of the bond. It felt like there was a thick wall between their sparks. Their bond was starting to break down…

He ran even faster, his spark desperately clinging to hers, begging her to fight a little bit longer…

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Ratchet wrenched the door to Starscream's quarters open. There was the mech, crouching over an unconscious Nightshade, pressing his chest against hers. Any self control Ratchet may have had left disappeared.

Starscream found himself flying off of the femme and into a wall. The mech recovered almost instantly, tackling Ratchet. Now, Ratchet was smaller than Starscream. He also lacked the firepower that Starscream had. He was a medic first, warrior second.

In a normal fight, Starscream would have won easily. This wasn't a normal fight – pure, unadulterated rage filled Ratchet's every move and his strength, making him an equal if not better fighter. A rogue blast from Starscream's plasma gun blasted a gigantic hole into the wall, sending bits of smoking metal and embers into the long grass below. Ratchet tackled Starscream, sending the both of them flying out of the hole and onto the ground below. They landed with a muffled crash. Ratchet plunged his hands into the other's chassis, ripping wires and tearing out circuits feverishly. Starscream was about to transform and kill the medic when the saw on Ratchet's arm came to life. Then he howled in pain as Ratchet effectively severed the main lines in his wing. Some remnants of being a medic remained in Ratchet's processor – Starscream could no longer transform and fly.

Ratchet savagely tore into the mech with his fists, punching every single inch of the mech that he could reach. Starscream growled and shoved the smaller mech away, kicking him in the abdomen. Ratchet rolled and bounced back onto his feet, his fists by his sides. Starscream jumped at him, using his size to his advantage. He landed hard, pushing the medic into the ground. He pinned Ratchet to the ground, snarling as he transformed his hand into a dagger.

Ratchet used his size to his advantage as well. He slipped his hands from Starscream's awkward claws and hacked at the knee joint beside his shoulder. Starscream shrieked in pain and almost doubled over. Ratchet shoved the mech off of his chest and advanced, his saw out…  
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Chromia started working on patching Nightshade up. She hissed when she saw her internal systems – or what was left of them. Starscream had pretty much destroyed every sensory and motor wire, leaving behind a mess of wires. Chromia then uploaded into Nightshade's systems, silently begging for her to forgive her intrusion. Once into her systems, Chromia began searching for the block keeping Nightshade in stasis. Once she found it she shut it down. Nightshade did not move.

A more thorough search and Chromia found the problem. The femme, out of desperation, had rewritten her access codes. And no one could get in, unless they had a medic's access codes. Chromia hissed once more and withdrew, calling Red Alert.

"Red Alert, I need your access code," she said, trying to keep calm.

"I can't give you those, but I will be on scene in twenty minutes," he responded.

"For the love of all that is holy, Red Alert, Nightshade is going to _die_ if I don't access her matrix _now_! You can purge my memory banks later but please, Red Alert…"

"Fine, I will give them to you. _Don't breach her trust_," Red Alert said, heavily emphasizing the latter. With those access codes, Chromia could access everything about Nightshade – her matrix, spark chamber files, _everything_. Red Alert sent his codes over, hoping to Primus that he would not regret doing so.

Chromia uploaded into the femme's systems once more, searching for the program. She isolated it and used Red Alert's access codes. For a split second, Chromia felt her spark stop. Would they work?

They ended up working and Chromia found everything that was Nightshade at her fingertips. Chromia ignored her curiosity and began reinitializing her start up sequence. Chromia withdrew and immediately purged Red Alert's access code from her banks.

Now Nightshade would have to do the rest on her own.  
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Nightshade stirred and unshuttered her optics. Upon seeing this, Elita and Chromia raced over, worry filling their optics. Nightshade groaned softly, clutching at her abdomen as she tried to sit up.

"Chromia, please tell me he didn't-" Nightshade was unable to finish, the mere thought of Starscream's claws desecrating her body making her sick to her tanks. She felt like her body was on fire. Her spark was in turmoil, fluttering and flaring, blisteringly hot. It didn't know what was happening. Her mate had withdrawn from her and another male had tried to bond with her. It reached out to both Ratchet and Starscream, calling for its other half. Nightshade writhed, trying to ease the searing heat in her chest.

Chromia gently examined the femme and shook her head. Her spark chamber was still sealed shut. This seemed to not only soothe her, but the other mechs in the room.

"You're fine. He didn't manage anything more than denting your armor," Chromia said, wrapping her arms around the shaking femme. Chromia was never this sensitive, but then again, one of her friends had nearly been forced to bond. Elita sighed in relief and sat with her, trying to soothe Nightshade out of her terror-induced fit. Ironhide and Optimus joined the femmes, followed shortly by the rest of the mechs. Silverbolt let out a long, low whistle as he transmitted a message.

"Optimus, do you want me to go and separate Ratchet and Starscream?"

"No, this fight is his," Optimus said, his optics narrowing. What Starscream had just attempted was unforgivable. Not even Optimus Prime, the gracious leader of the autobots could find it in his spark to forgive him. He had just tried to destroy something sacred, and now he had to answer to Ratchet.

The fighting grew louder as they drew closer. Then it went deathly quiet. A few mechs gulped quietly, wincing and shuttering their optics. They knew what was about to happen. Ratchet's saw came to life, the whining noise becoming wet sounding as it severed both metal and the underlying energon lines. Then came a single blast from a rifle – Ratchet had shot Starscream's spark from its casing. The slagger would never touch another femme again.

Out on the field, Ratchet surveyed the corpse of Starscream. He stood, gazing down at the mangled remains of the male that had tried to harm his mate.  
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Jazz couldn't contain the shiver that ran down his spinal relay. The sight of the energon spattered medic standing slowly, moonlight glinting off of his armor, was nothing short of terrifying. Then when Ratchet turned his blood red optics toward the room where Nightshade was, Jazz took a step back out of fear.

"We need to move before he comes back," Optimus said quickly, noting that the medic was drawing closer…with his weapons and glowing red optics trained on the others in the room.

"Wh-" Jazz suddenly found himself under Optimus's arm, Ironhide being pulled by the other. The femmes had (bravely) elected to stay beside Nightshade. Ratchet entered the room once more and his optics narrowed at the sight of two others crouched by his mate. He let out a low growl, not caring if the intruders were mech or femme – he did not want anyone near his mate.

"Nightshade," Chromia hissed, "Tell him to chill!"

"Ratchet, it's me, Elita." At her voice he went silent, his optics narrowing a little more. He raised his rifle. Optimus gasped reflexively and Ratchet spun around, the weapon trained on the leader. Optimus boldly held his ground, his hands out in front of him. He steeled himself against the frightening look he'd received, although on the inside he was almost shaken. Optimus had _never_ seen a mech lose control like that before. Then again, he'd never heard of a mech trying to steal another's bonded.

"Ratchet, you're frightening Nightshade. Please calm down," Elita said, motioning over to the femme. Ratchet looked and felt his spark drop at the look of terror on his mate's face. He immediately ran over to her and scooped her up into his arms. Nightshade trembled in terror – she could not feel Ratchet.

"Nightshade? What's going on?" His optics flickered to back to blue as he spoke.

"Oh, Ratchet," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"Nightshade…please forgive me… I wasn't there to protect you," Ratchet begged gently, holding the femme tightly to his frame. He softly murmured to her as she wept into his chest plates, rubbing her back gently. Nightshade clung to him physically. She'd been so close to being forced to spend the rest of eternity with Starscream.

She gagged and shuddered violently, clutching at Ratchet's arms, desperately seeking his protection. Ratchet gathered her close, nuzzling her softly. Nightshade only burrowed into his arms, trembling as she tried to purge the memories from her data banks.

Ratchet held her even more tightly, mindful of her wounds. It was like pure ice in his chamber, her fear, pain and unrest finally catching up to her and to him. He pushed away the thoughts racing through his CPU – _what if I hadn't made it in time? What if he actually managed to _- Ratchet begged her to forgive him.

When Ironhide and Optimus came into the doorway, they found themselves staring down the business end of Ratchet's handy laser cannon, his optics red and narrowed once more. Nightshade only wrapped her arms around his waist, trying her best to calm him down. The mech was on a hair trigger.

"Back off, he's still upset," Elita said, slowly backing away from Ratchet. Chromia followed and they were both whisked behind their respective mates.

"Ratchet, please, just take me home," Nightshade whispered, wiping a tear from her face. The medic blinked in confusion, his optics back to their normal azure color.

-

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-

Once they arrived back in the base, Ratchet and Nightshade, along with the other two femmes were escorted back to the medical bay. Ratchet gently set Nightshade down on a surgical table. Red Alert approached slowly, tools in his hands. Ratchet let out a low growl, narrowing his optics at the intruding male. …okay, so maybe Red Alert _wasn't _going to operate on Nightshade.

Red Alert backed down, instead calling a femme into the room. Maybe Ratchet would let another femme tend to Nightshade…

-  
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-

In the end, it'd taken a full hour to get Ratchet out of his state and another before Nightshade would let anyone but Ratchet touch her. Finally, when all of her physical damages had been fixed, Optimus put the both of them on indefinite leave. This was something that they had to heal through together…or else neither of them would survive much longer.

In essence, Ratchet had indeed failed to protect his mate. Even though Starscream hadn't been able to access her spark and rape her, he still managed to uphold one aspect of his promise to Nightshade.

Starscream had broken their bond.

-

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-

OH, SHNAP. What's going to happen next?!


	23. In Which There is Frustration

Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form. I only own my OC's.

Oh , just a warning: Nightshade is a bit weepy in this chapter. She and Ratchet have to get past their trauma before they can…uh…reestablish their bond…(and I have some pretty steamy ideas for that, too :o)

For the love of Primus, ff, don't delete my important stuff. :O

EDIT: I added a few lines. I also seperated two paragraphs. Stuff got bunched up. There were a few words that slipped past my spell check. (simmers quietly). There were a few verb and subject disagreements.

And my apologies to Litahatchee. :)

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee.

And thanks to Silveriss for letting me know that I should mention what I edited. :D

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The first week was torture for Nightshade. She woke in the medical bay, a bright light shining into her optics. Ratchet was slumped over the edge of her recharge berth, deep in recharge himself. She tried to access his spark, but she couldn't feel him. She was alone. Dread settled over her joints as she repeated the action, only to come to the same conclusion. Panic seized her systems.

Soft weeping startled Ratchet from his recharge sequence. He shot up quickly, wincing as he did his best to ignore the painful protests of his badly damaged body. Reaching toward the crying femme, he spoke softly.

"Nightshade, what's wrong, love," he said, trying to wrap his arms around her. She only clung to him, desperately trying to reestablish their bond. It didn't work. Her spark only continued its happy fluttering in its box, ignorant of Ratchet's presence.

"I-I can't feel our bond," she whispered, nuzzling his chest plates softly. He only rumbled softly, stroking her back gently. Ratchet sighed softly, almost inaudibly. Nightshade was vulnerable without their bond, both physically and mentally.

"…I know," he said quietly, wincing as her weeping continued again. Ratchet only held her to him tightly, whispering into her audios, promising her he'd find a way to fix it and things would be okay. But somehow, deep down in his spark, he knew it would be near impossible – if their sparks didn't recognize one another now, they probably never would.

"Is…there any way to fix it," she whispered softly, her grip around him tightening.

"I…I honestly don't know." Ratchet felt something warm slide down his plate cheek and he wiped it away angrily. He had failed to protect her…it was only fitting that the one he loved the most was gone, but at the same time, nestled safely in his arms.  
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The second week was less painful as Nightshade accepted the fact that she and Ratchet were no longer bonded to one another. They shared the same quarters, still, but she could feel the distance between them slowly growing. He spent more and more time in the medical bay and she in the command center. He was often in their shared berth hours after she'd gone into recharge and gone before she woke.

Ratchet wasn't blind or deaf. He often lay awake listening to his former mate cry softly in the bathing room, thinking that he wouldn't hear. But he did hear her, no matter what he did, even if he shut his audios off. The distance between them grew even though she stood by him. Ratchet tried talking to her but the pained and hollow undertone of her voice simply broke him, and he could speak no longer.

They were both confused and lonely, trying to come to terms with what had happened those many nights ago. Nightshade even voiced her fears to Elita._ What if he doesn't want me anymore,_ she had asked, her optics staring, unseeing, at the clasped hands in her lap. Elita had only embraced her, whispering quietly to not say things like that, and that things would get better. And then Nightshade asked when, and Elita could not answer her question.

Ratchet withdrew even further into his shell, no longer speaking to anyone, even in the med bay. Ratchet couldn't come to terms with what he had done – he had killed a fellow Cybertronian, a _fellow_ scientist, and…someone he'd known and been good friends with many, many years ago. Seeing those blood red optics, once sky blue, staring up at him, begging for mercy, and then suddenly going out…it was almost enough to drive him over the edge. Ratchet clenched his fists, feeling the familiar sensation of his tanks starting a purge program. The guilt and shame of what he had done caught up to him – why would Nightshade want someone like him, someone no better than a decepticon?

Little did he know that she did want him, but every night her love for him grew a little less as the pain in her spark grew a little more.

-

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-

Nightshade was in the med bay helping Ratchet organize some of the things in storage. It had been a slow day. No one had come in complaining of any injuries, which was a pleasant surprise but made for a boring med bay. She looked over at him curiously. He had a pained look on his face and his optics were quite dim.

Ratchet's spark was in turmoil. He was reliving the night where he almost lost Nightshade over and over in his processor. Ratchet could feel every second of her agony and pain, and her spark begging for his protection and he'd failed to do so, and then sudden cold nothingness as their bond was broken. He remembered every astrosecond after that – he desperately tried to fix their bond but he just couldn't – something was interfering with him reestablishing himself with Nightshade.

Ratchet learned the true meaning of terror that night – had he truly lost Nightshade to Starscream? He couldn't sleep at night and he couldn't refuel without purging his tanks. He, the medic, had mercilessly slaughtered someone with whom he had been close with.

-Start Flashback-

…_He had Starscream by the throat, crushing his main fuel lines and severing a secondary energon line. The shimmering pink fluid gushed out of the severed line, a macabre waterfall of life-giving energy, drenching the red fist at Starscream's throat. The fluid continued down Ratchet's arm, dripping onto the grass slowly. _

_Ratchet remembered the look of pure terror on Starscream's face as he powered up his saw and raised it – it seemed to be an eternity before the saw made contact with his throat. Sparks flew as the sharp teeth of the weapon bit into the soft metal. A horrible scream erupted from what was left of Starscream's vocal modulators, startling Ratchet out of his rage induced blindness. _

_The world slowly sank into focus around him. He was conscious and aware once more, the ringing in his audios was starting to dissipate and then pain washed over his beaten frame – he was in agony. Ratchet looked down at himself – his arms and abdomen were almost in shreds, thanks to Starscream's claws. Ratchet was horrified at the devastation around him. The arm holding Starscream's throat began to tremble._

_After a second, he dropped Starscream to the ground. He watched as the mech wearily sank to his knees, his clawed digits wrapped around the wound. He was trying to speak but Ratchet couldn't make anything out, the familiar fog of rage starting to cloud his computing center again. A loud ringing noise blocked his audios, and then everything went deathly silent, all of his self control gone. Starscream gurgled quietly, trying to staunch his bleeding. Out of pity for the dying mech, he slowly pulled his rifle out of subspace. His optics were glazed, unseeing, as he gazed down at the savagely broken mech before him._

_Starscream shuttered his optics, waiting for the pity shot. Ratchet's finger twitched on the trigger and he pulled back gently, almost tentatively. The boom of the shot shattered the night. It completely obliterated his spark casing, sending the shards of spark-material flying through the air and into the tree behind him. Electric blue plasma rained from the now empty spark chamber, acid upon the grass below. The electrical discharge erupted from the gaping wound on his back, burning the grass around the fallen mech into cinders. All that he heard was a soft crackling noise as the electricity dissipated slowly._

_The recoil from the rifle had snapped him from his rage and he looked around, confused. Why was he out here? What-he looked down at the corpse at his feet. He looked back up at the room where Nightshade was, having sensed her distress somehow. Ratchet saw the distinct silhouette of two mechs in the room and everything faded out once more._

_The rest of the night came to him in bits in pieces. He vaguely remembered Elita speaking to him, saying something about Nightshade being terrified out of her processes. That was his first period of lucidity and then he remembered clutching her to his chest. After than, he heard the soft footsteps and he whirled around and he couldn't remember anything after leveling his rifle at Prime's head._

_He remembered settling Nightshade into a surgical bed in the med bay. How he got back to the ARK he did not know but it didn't matter – she was critical and she'd gone into shock. Starscream had torn several vital bits and pieces from her chest, along with the other wires. Then Red Alert came into the room and he remembered no more, only a snarl erupting from his vocalizers._

_The next morning, he woke up in a berth beside Nightshade, the remnants of a tranquilizer being flushed from his systems, and his entire body covered in fresh welds…_

-End Flashback-

Ratchet shook himself from his memory as the door of the storage room swung shut. That was odd. He hadn't seen anyone enter the med bay. Nightshade immediately tried to open the door, slamming the button several times before she gave up. The door had been sealed from the outside.

"Fraggin' pit," she muttered quietly, glaring at the innocent little green button on the wall. Ratchet stood back and settled on a box, calmly sending a text to Red Alert. He received no response. He tried Optimus and Ironhide, and neither of the two responded. Two minutes and fourteen texts later found them both sprawled out on the floor. No one was responding, not even Bluestreak, who jabbered more than anyone else.

The silence that descended on the room was thick and awkward. Nightshade busied herself with trying to pick the lock but she failed. The door had been physically sealed shut from the outside. Then she growled and plunked back down on the floor. Ratchet started to speak but fell silent, unable to say what had been plaguing his computing center. However, Nightshade beat him to speaking what had been on both of their minds.

"Do...do you still want to be with me or not," she said softly, pulling her knee joints beneath her chin. Ratchet started, surprised.

"Of course I want to be with you, Nightshade!"

"…you haven't really acted like you want me any more...you're so distant..."

"What makes you think that I'd throw my love for you away?"

"You really haven't acted like you wanted to be with me, Ratchet! When was the last time we spoke? When was the last time you told me that you loved me?"

"Nightshade-"

"If you didn't want to be with me, all you had to do was say so. I would have left you alone," she said, her voice growing weaker as she finally voiced her fears. She shuttered her optics, unable to look at him. Shame burned her face and disgust made her nauseous as she realized just how selfish she sounded.

"I do want to be with you, Nightshade! Stop putting words in my mouth, because I never said that I didn't want to be with you. I'm trying to deal with the sins _I_ have committed."

-

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-

Chromia, Elita, and Mirage both stood outside of the door. Smiles crossed their faces. The only way those two stubborn aft-heads would get over themselves and take care of one another would be if they were given a good push. Besides, the tension between the both of them could be cut with a knife. They smirked as the shouting grew louder. Any second now, Nightshade was going to burst into tears…Ratchet was going to feel guilty and scoop her into his arms…

-

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-

"I do love you, Nightshade! Will you stop being selfish for one fraggin' breem and look at what I've had to put up with?! I killed someone – someone who was my _friend_ - out of rage! I don't deserve the right to live after what I've done-"

"Don't say things like that, Ratchet, you're upsetting me-" She slowly stood up, hugging her arms close to herself. She may have been upset but Ratchet was her lifeline. If something had happened to him, she probably wouldn't have been alive.

"And you don't think what you said to me was upsetting, Nightshade," he asked gently. Nightshade only looked away, unable to meet his optics. Ratchet leaned against the wall heavily, his knee joints starting to feel weak. He wearily wiped at his optics, fighting the familiar sensation of nausea.

"Ratchet, I'm sorry. Please forgive me," she begged quietly, her voice starting to waver dangerously. She bowed her head and bit her lip, sagging against a support beam. Ratchet looked up at her sharply, how could she say that? It was his fault that Starscream had almost violated her - he had failed at his duties.

"No, I should be asking for your forgiveness, Nightshade, I deserved those things you said to me-"

He was cut off by Nightshade launching herself into his arms, sobbing quietly. He only wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. His spark rejoiced to be holding her once more and he tentatively reached out to her. He received nothing. Their bond was still broken. Crestfallen but optimistic, he spoke softly.

"Nightshade, forgive me. I let that monster hurt you and-"

"Ratchet-"

"-I didn't make it in time to keep him from hurting you, and it's my fault, Night."

"Ratchet, it is _not _your pit-slaggin' fault! You had nothing to do with the fact that we had a traitor somewhere on base! If there was anyone to blame it's Starscream!" She was growing hysterical.

"Night…"

"Be quiet! I can't believe you'd say something like that, you're not a monster! You _saved_ me from him, Ratchet! Do you know why he picked me, instead of some other femme?"

She ignored his weak protest and continued, fury blazing in her optics.

"The only reason he picked me is because my spark-frequency was close enough to his for him to _try_ and bond with me! He would have failed! He wouldn't have risked…I…I did something terrible. He would have _failed._ You know why?"

"Nightshade, please…"

"I corrupted my spark chamber and carrying files so that he couldn't touch me without my systems failing, that's why!"

"Nightshade, I still should have arrived sooner…I should have been able to do something…," he protested weakly, stroking her back tentatively. She leaned into his embrace. The puff of air that she let from her cooling systems seemed to be too large to be coming from her tiny frame.

"No, you couldn't have come any sooner! Ratchet, I'm sorry…I'm so, _so_ sorry for what I've done…" Nightshade's tears made new tracks down her face. At the abrupt 360 in her tone of voice, Ratchet blinked in confusion.

"What's the matter, love?"

She looked up at him, her optics watery. Her mouth moved but no words came out. She shuddered before burying her face into his chest armor and trembling. Ratchet wrapped his arms around her, soothing her gently. He knew what she had done…but they didn't know the extent of the damage done. Chromia had finished destroying the file with thirty seconds left to spare, and her systems had started to crash.

"Night, please tell me what's going on…"

Even though her words were muffled, he still heard each word. Pure agony made her tremble in his arms and he reflexively tightened them.

"Ratchet…my carrying files were corrupted."

"Nightshade…"

"I don't even know if I can give you a sparkling now, Ratchet. Do you know how much that kills me inside to know that I will probably never conceive?"

Ratchet only hugged her tightly, fighting the trembling in his voice.

"Nightshade…"

"Ratchet, I'm sorry..." She tried to pull out of his arms but he held her tightly.

"No, I'm not letting you go. I'm never letting you go, you hear me?"

She nodded silently, basking in Ratchet's warmth. After a few silent minutes, he spoke again, though softly.

"Nightshade…?"

"Yes, Ratchet?"

"Is there any way I could convince you to become my mate once more?"

"Ratchet…why would you want me? I'm defective," she said quietly and bitterly. Ratchet's arms tightened around her almost painfully and she squeaked in surprise, looking up at him.

"_Never_ say something like that again. Having you in my arms is more than I will ever need," he hissed quietly, his optics glowing brightly. She only laughed bitterly.

"And what then, when it's a thousand years down the line? What will you do then when you realize that you bonded yourself to a barren femme and you'll never have a sparkling of your own?"

"Nightshade, you are perfect the way you are. I will not tolerate you saying things like that. I can deal with not having a sparkling, Nightshade. I didn't bond with you because I wanted an heir," he hissed once more. Nightshade only buried her face into his chest.

"Do you honestly mean that, Ratchet," she asked quietly, staring at the blank wall beside them.

"Yes," he replied, a little stung that she would question his honesty. She only buried her face into his chest, hardly daring to believe that he would want her.

-

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(ducks bricks thrown by audience)

Yeah, yeah, I know. It's a happier ending than what I had originally planned. Y'all better be glad that the Smut Fairy inspired me to write something else. Heh heh heh.


	24. In Which There is Closure

Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's. :D

Night and Ratch both have to work through their issues before they can go jump in the sack. Hehe. And the bit at the beginning is a dream sequence, if you can't tell. :D

Alright. Ff, please...for the love of Primus...let this come out correctly. :O

Due to several messages I have recieved from people, I have found that some of my things have been used without permission. I honestly don't mind what you take from my stories, just drop me a line, okay? And, going along with that line, I've decided to also put credit for other people in here. I hate it when I read other stories and they take _other_ people's stuff and don't give them credit.

Alrighty. Let's get started. First of all, a giant thank you to Okami-Chan. I borrowed the idea of dancers and femmes from her, and without her this story would totally not even be here. A second giant thank you to P.A.W.07 for letting me borrow her idea of a femme in hiding. Also, without her, this story wouldn't be here. A third thank you goes to Litahatchee, for proof-reading my smut, letting me borrow her idea of carrying, and for all the laughs (and ideas, and for proofreading my smut, and everything else you've done for me). Without Litahatchee, the smut would most definitely suck. And the story would have already ended. :O Without those three aforementioned ladies this story wouldn't be here. So everyone else, get off your aft and go read their stories. ;D If I forgot to mention someone, forgive me and be sure to drop me a line, eh?

And I promise this is the last angsty chapter. :D

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Nightshade came out of recharge. Something was wrong. She peered around in the dark until her optics happened to graze over Ratchet's form. The mech was writhing slightly, his body twisted in the throes of a horrendous nightmare. His vocalizer was on and he was quietly whispering the same word, over and over. Nightshade was instantly up and kneeling beside him, trying to rouse him from the terror gripping his computing center. This wasn't normal, Nightshade thought, panic surging through her systems. Their kind wasn't supposed to be subjected to flashbacks…unless he had been through something extremely traumatizing. Nightshade continued to call his name and shook his shoulder gently, begging him to awake.

"No…no, no, no…stop it…please…"

…_The skies were choked with ash, turning the sunlight blood red-scars marred the once pristine terrain, thunder rolling and the ground beneath quaking as bombs exploded in the distance… there was fire everywhere, charring the skeletal remains of the city he once called home-brothers fought and died as enemies…refusing to fight wasn't an option, it was either fight and die or be slain where he stood…rage and fear fueled both sides, spilling energon into the weeping earth…he was alone, all alone…_

Ratchet gave a low shuddering gasp and shot up in his recharge berth, the familiar sensation of his tanks about to purge clawing at him. He barely made it to the waste receptacle in time before his fuel tank decided to empty itself. He clung to the counter weakly, shakily wiping the fuel from his chin. Nightshade appeared out of the darkness, holding a cool and moist towel to him. Without speaking, she wrapped her arms around him.

"Ratchet, do…do you want to talk about it?" She spoke quietly and softly, as though he were made of glass. He shook his head feebly, gripping the towel in his hand, staring down at it helplessly. Flashbacks to the night when he lost his family, coupled along with the night he had lost Nightshade, shattered his firewalls. To his eternal shame, he began shaking like a frightened sparkling once more. He had failed to protect his family and he had failed to protect his mate, what kind of mech was he? Was the same gruesome fate to befall Nightshade? Nightshade only wrapped her arms around him gently, nuzzling his chest plates softly. He finally managed to repress his memories, reality coming back to his computing center. Nightshade was terrified out of her processes but she hid it well. She peered up at him and caressed the side of his face lightly with the digits of one hand. Ratchet leaned into her touch silently, basking in her comfort.

"Ratchet, please lay down," she said, leading him from the bathroom back to their shared room. Nightshade sat down on the berth beside him, stroking his helm gently. Ratchet curled up on his side, his optics shuttered. It killed Nightshade to see her former mate, someone who had been so strong and unwavering in his bravery and dedication, so upset and vulnerable. Nightshade held back her tears as she quietly comforted him. Ratchet responded by laying his head in her lap. She held him closer, clicking softly and reassuringly.

"Ratchet, please…let me share your burdens," she said, rubbing his shoulder joint softly. He shook his head, mumbling quietly.

"Night…I couldn't ask you to do that for me."

"But Ratchet, I _want_ to be here for you. I want to make you better," she begged quietly, her hand on his shoulder stilling. He weakly shook his head.

"Nightshade, I don't want to expose you to my past…It's not something I want you to see…the war is over…"

"Ratchet." The soft authority in her voice made him silence his protests. He peeked up at her. There was an unreadable look on her face as she gazed down at him. Ratchet paused for a moment, trying to decide whether to share with her his past or not. She spoke once more, sensing his moment of weakness.

"I…I want you to trust me, Ratchet…what kind of mate would I be if I didn't share your pain?"

"Night…"

"Ratchet…the night we bonded, I swore to be your comfort. I swore to be here at the end of every day and to ease your weariness. Why won't you let me fulfill my promise to you," she asked gently. Ratchet buckled at the statement. He had failed her yet she still wanted to honor her pledge? He didn't deserve this, he was a terrible- Nightshade gripped his hand tightly, almost as though she knew what he was thinking. Ratchet slowly nodded, going against his better judgment and shuttering his optics. Nightshade gently pulled herself from underneath him, settling beside him on the berth. She leaned her forehead on his chest as he pulled a thin black cable from his wrist.

He inserted one end into a port on his wrist and offered Nightshade the other end. She slowly took it, looking up at him.

"Thank you, Ratchet, for letting me be here for you," she whispered. He merely nodded, scooping her close before he initiated the file share program.

"Please…please don't hate me for what I have done."

-

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- Start Flashback –

_There had been reports of decepticon activity in the sector throughout the day but Ratchet paid it no mind. His family was quite safe; they were near the autobot base. If anything happened his family unit would be among the first to be whisked into the safety of the base, he thought confidently. He realized that once again, fate had betrayed him, as he approached the living quarters. The door was wide open, covered in singe marks and scratches. His mech creator valiantly tried to defend his family but it was pointless – the assassin had slashed his throat before descending on the rest of his family._

_He heard a long shuddering gasp from the floor. It was his mother, lying in a pool of her own energon. The spark she carried was dead. She turned her optics to him, her once beautiful face covered in burns and scratches._

"_No!" Ratchet rushed over to his dying femme creator, desperately trying to save her life. He tried staunching her wounds but it wasn't enough. The femme was already past saving. She gently clutched at his hand, smiling sadly up at him. She slipped through his fingers after whispering quietly that she loved him and his baby brother. His younger brother was sitting up against a wall, his optics wide in terror. Ratchet reached out slowly to the little one, cradling him in his arms. The youngling quietly burrowed into his arms, begging for Ratchet to make the pain go away. With ice gripping his spark, Ratchet tied off lines, pleading for his brother to hang on for him but somehow he knew it was in vain. He could sense his brother's spark fading away quickly._

"_Are momma and daddy in the Matrix, Ratchet?"_

"_Yes, little one, yes they are."_

"_Ratch, I love you."_

"_I…I love you too," Ratchet whispered brokenly, cradling the dying youngling to his chest. A second later there was a fourth, gaping hole in his spark. He heard a soft noise and turned. The assassin femme was standing behind him, curved daggers in her hands._

"_Rain, what…" He fell silent as he saw the glittering Decepticon emblem on her chassis, proudly displayed. However when he looked into her optics, he saw nothing but pain and grief. _

"_Don't move," she snapped, brandishing her dagger as he tried to stand. He sank back to the floor._

"_Rain, why…why did you do this?"_

_The femme didn't answer but instead walked to the doorway._

"_Please, Ratchet. Promise me something. Become a medic and save lives. Make sure that decepticons like me don't kill any more innocent people," she whispered quietly, turning her now red optics to his. She waited until he nodded. Then she left silently. Ratchet still cradled the still form of his brother, tears dripping down his face. The Autobot soldiers that came into the building had to tear him away from his dead family. Ratchet fulfilled his promise to the decepticon femme._

_He was in the middle of a fight when he saw it happen. Rain was standing, fighting with an Autobot soldier. Their optics made contact and she inclined her head in his direction. He suddenly realized her intent and tried to cry out. It happened so fast. She dropped her daggers and the soldier, while confused, showed no mercy. A point-blank shot to the chest silenced her forever._

_Ratchet continued working on his fallen comrade mechanically, his mind clouded and his body numb. When he'd finally managed to stabilize the mech, the mech wearily grabbed his shoulder._

"_Yes, Star Wind? Are you alright?"_

"_Was she a friend o' yers? The femme?"_

"_Before the war…we..."_

"_Good friends?" The soldier winced as Ratchet helped him stand back up. The mech clutched at his fried internals, holding himself upright._

"_We were much more than that," Ratchet said sadly, not able to meet his friend's optics. He had fully intended on asking Raincloud to become his mate – perhaps more, if they had more time. He and Rain had discussed it a few times, considering moving in together and maybe even starting a family unit._

"_Ah. War does that, kid. When you've lived as long as I have, you learn not to trust so easily. I lost my entire family in one night – my creators, my siblings, my mate, and my little ones. I joined up to avenge them. There's nothing left of my spark, kid. The hate I have for them decepticons has destroyed anything that's left of me. As long as I take out some of them slaggers wit' me…I wouldn't mind being deactivated," the mech said tiredly, groaning as he lay back in a recharge berth._

"_Star…don't say that, you've got friends here," Ratchet said quietly, giving the mech a few pain killers._

"_It's not that I don't feel loved or whatever you think it is, but I can't do this any more. I've been fightin' too long. I've been on an operatin' table too many times. I just want to rest and be wit' my family again," Star Wind said quietly._

"_But…"_

"_But nothin', kid. All I gotta say is to look back and think. Why did you join? Why would ya want to throw yer innocence away like that?"_

"_She slaughtered my entire family and…she told me to become a medic…to save lives that she destroyed," Ratchet said, sighing heavily._

"_Mmm…don't let yourself hate anyone, kiddo. You're too good for that," Star Wind said, his weary frame sinking into the berth as the painkillers finally relaxed him. Ratchet smiled and began working on his shredded lower body._

"_Smile more often, kid. Frownin' only makes ya old, like me. Besides, you never know who needs to see someone else smile," Star Wind said quietly, his optics dimming. His body began to shut down slowly. Then it sped up, a cascade effect, as his body realized that it no longer had a fighting chance. Processes froze. Systems failed. One by one, his friend was dying and he was powerless to stop it._

"_I need help over here," Ratchet called out, starting to panic when he realized his patient was dying._

"_Leave him and get over here! He's dead, anyway! We need to help these mechs!" Another medic snapped at him as the fresh wave of casualties entered the med bay. Star Wind clutched at his shoulder and gave him a weak smile._

"_Go do yer job. You're one of the nicer ones…Ratchet, was it? Yes, now go. Keep those guys alive."_

"_Star, hang on for me," Ratchet cried out, desperately tying off bleeding wounds and replacing parts. Star Wind only chuckled._

"_Go fix them, kid. I'm too old for this. At least I can be with my family again," he rumbled quietly. He released a shuddering puff of air before his optics shut down. His body turned grey and cold._

_  
Ratchet numbly went to help repair the mechs. His thoughts raced. He was only fixing mechs to send them back out there to get shot up. It was a never ending cycle as mechs died. Younger and younger soldiers were sent out to fight as the battle grew more and more desperate. Mechs went out and were shot, brought back here, and patched back up, only to be sent out to fight once more. If they came back alive it was a miracle._

End Flashback –

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-

Unseeing optics flashed to white and then dulled to blue as Nightshade and Ratchet came out of their file sharing session. Nightshade placed a chaste kiss on Ratchet's lips before burying her face in his chest armor. Then she soaked in the familiar warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around her. She felt her spark flutter, waking sleepily from its period of unawareness. It fluttered brightly, calling to Ratchet, and even though their bond was gone, he moved subconsciously, pressing his chest against hers.

She was surprised by his hands slowly caressing her spinal support. She looked up at him, surprise and confusion on her face.

"Nightshade, I want you to know that you're perfect in every way to me. I know you uploaded to ease my pain but I know you're still hurting…and…I just want you to know that I will always love you no matter what. I will always be here, I will never abandon you," he said softly, doing his best to put into words what was on his computing center. He had felt a brief flash of unease and doubt emanating from her when they linked systems. He felt terrible for not being there to ease her pain, even though she was selflessly putting hers aside for him. Tightly clenching his hands around her waist, he swore silently that he would not fail again.

He was then pleasantly surprised at what she said next.

"Then, in that case, would you like to be my mate once more, Ratchet?" She had a soft smile on her face. He smirked at her, his playfulness easing away the sorrow in his spark. Things were going to be okay now.

"What kind of mate would I be if I denied you your happiness," he all but purred, mischief twinkling in his azure optics.

-

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-

The soft white light bathed the infinite room. It was dark and light at the same time, bathed in an ethereal light. It was heavily dotted with endless white stars, tiny pinpricks of light. There was a cacophony of harsh melodies yet completely mute, the silence sweet and golden. The traitor basked in the warm light, awaiting judgment on his deviation from his predetermined path.

"You _know_ we told you not to tinker around with the future," said one deep voice, almost emotionlessly. The "traitor" sheepishly looked to the floor, embarrassment burning his face. He knew better than to try and hide his misdeeds, so he confessed to it, tossing in a quick explanation.

"I didn't, I just helped out a little," the "traitor" said softly, smiling up at his father. His father shook his head and smiled gently, placing a warm and heavy hand on his son's shoulder.

"You're not finished with your task, either, or have you forgotten your punishment?"

"I know, father."

"It is not your place to determine their futures."

"But father, I used my powers for _good_. Look at the medic – my elder sister sent the femme to kill his family and he would have given up on becoming a medic – he would have died! I stepped in and helped him with that. Now he has healed."

"I agree – he has healed. But he has committed a serious sin…he must learn forgive himself in order to earn mine."

"Yes, and the femme would have ended up as a doll had I not intervened," the son added helpfully.

"Maybe. I will decide later."

"Father, I have saved them from themselves – and their human counterparts. Had I not intervened with the shuttle, the mech Starscream would have succeeded. He would have killed every last innocent on board."

"That I can agree with you on. You saved the lives of the innocents and guarded the humans, even though they were not appointed to you."

"Father, the mech would have succeeded in bonding with the femme! His mere attempt at bonding with her is punishable by death – the medic was within his full rights to kill the mech. Besides, he would have ultimately slaughtered the humans and the rest of the Transformers. The others would not have defected had I not intervened-"

"Perhaps."

"But, father-"

"Perhaps, I said. Pleading will not help their case."

And with that, AllSpark left his father's domain and returned to his corporeal body on the planet Earth, determined to show his father that he had done right to tamper with the future. He returned only to find several curious faces peering down at him, including Prime.

-

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Start Flashback

"_You know our duties, son," said the voice._

"_Yes, father. We protect the galaxy and watch over our brothers and sisters," the smaller voice replied eagerly, awaiting his first and more important task._

"_Very well – you shall watch over the Cybertronians. They are a very young race, enslaved by the Quintessons."_

"_What does enslaved mean, father? I have never heard that term. And why are the Quintessons in this part of the galaxy?"_

"_They have turned against us, my son."_

"_Then I shall punish them-"_

"_No, you must watch over the Cybertronians. I will deal the punishment."_

"_Yes, father. I shall protect them."_

"_Remember our most sacred rule, my son."_

"_Do not meddle with the future."_

"_Good, good. Now, to your duties."_

_With a flurry of white light and blackness, the Small Voice found itself buried deep in the ground of a planet. It was full of minerals and metals, the perfect planet for a legacy to start. Scanning over the planet, he saw it: a five faced monstrosity watching over tiny bodies of metal, digging away at the earth. Suddenly one face turned in his direction and he retreated._

_Days, weeks, maybe eons later he woke to light shining in his face. He wearily awoke and looked around him. The same tiny protoforms weren't the same – these were loaded with weaponry. Their innocence was gone. They had seen war and defeated their enemies._

_He was dug from the ground and placed on a convoy, dragged to a small settlement. The war had taken its toll. Only eight of their kind remained living on the planet, the rest having been decimated by the war. Metal spires and smoke rose from the still hot battle grounds, giving the fallen city a ruined look._

_The leader appraised the cube in front of him and nodded to his men. The cube was placed on a pedestal. The leader of the group sat and watched the cube, trying to decipher its meaning. With a flash of white the AllSpark was in the leader's mind, curiously but gently probing what the leader had seen and done._

"_Do not fear me. I am here to help you."_

"_Who-who are you?! Why are you in my mind?"_

"_I am the AllSpark. I have been sent to watch over your race."_

"_And what does that have to do with you being in my mind?!"_

"_I am here to help you rebuild your world. Bring your most trusted advisors."_

"_I will do as you ask, AllSpark."_

"_You will be awakened in a few minutes, Alpha."_

"_How did-"_

"_Shh. Now rest. Tomorrow we begin."_

_Alpha brought his seven friends into the room, claiming that these were his most trusted advisors. AllSpark appraised the men, taking note of each mech's most prominent characteristic: intelligence, bravery, integrity, honesty, empathy, strength, and loyalty, deeming them worthy. All of the mechs had pure sparks, wanting nothing more than to rebuild their home. AllSpark looked at each mech, silently broadcasting a question._

"_What would you do to save your home?"_

_Each one answered the same, including Alpha._

"_I would lay my life down."_

"_Would you live for eternity if I asked you to?"_

"_Yes."_

_Then there was a flash of light and Alpha was lying on the floor. The others were gone. He sat up, his optics darting around the grey room quickly. He began calling his friend's names._

"_AllSpark, what have you done?!" The mech cried out, sinking to his knees. His companions were gone…and all he had left was a talking cube._

"_They are not gone. Take that object from the floor. You are now in possession of the Matrix of Leadership. Under your rule, your people will rebuild."_

"_But they are all dead!"_

"_No, they are not. Have you forgotten the outposts where the Quintessons took the miners?"_

"…_Oh."_

"_Now. Are you ready to take on the responsibilities of being the leader of your race?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you willing to stand alone?"_

"_Yes."_

"_If you accept the Matrix of Leadership then your responsibilities will be many and your enemies great. Would you lay your life down to protect your people?"_

"_Yes," he answered, without hesitating once._

"_Good."_

_And that was that. AllSpark and Alpha Prime became the stuff of legends. Years after that fateful meeting, the planet of Cybertron was rebuilt, ushering in a golden era of peace and prosperity. New Primes came and went through the many millennia. Few accepted the role of Prime – sometimes it was inherent who the next Prime would be. Sometimes it wouldn't be and the Council would select the next leader._

_Had it not been for the fear of failure and punishment, most wouldn't have thought twice about taking responsibility. However…the fear of punishment was far too great for some to think of. If the Prime had protected and served his people to the best of his ability, and retained the purity of their mind and spark, they were allowed to pass on the burden. The Prime would then move on to the Well of All Sparks, to await his family and loved ones. If he failed…he was to be doomed for an eternity to watch over their counterparts, a heavy price for failure._

_AllSpark was an excellent guard for the Transformers, as he'd lovingly come to call them. They were a quiet and peaceful race, intelligent and passionate. They were capable of so much more than the other species around them. Most of the other species, who didn't have guardians of their own, had destroyed themselves by now. Most of the Transformers believed that he had been the one to stop the war, but they were wrong. Alpha Prime and his advisors had stopped the war themselves. He became known as a godlike figure, with limitless powers. AllSpark forgot his duties and began expanding his power. With the AllSpark, Cybertron grew powerful and beautiful, a respected and feared land. The AllSpark had done well, he hadn't directly interfered with the future. His power only grew more…but, as with all power, it soon corrupted him beyond recognition._

_In his god-like position, he grew arrogant. AllSpark abandoned his people, leaving them to squabble amongst themselves and eventually engulf the entire planet in fire and despair. He destroyed planets and created new races, only to leave them to their own devices when he grew bored of them. These races were consumed by disease and despair. He destroyed those who dared to cross his path and showed no mercy. His punishment was dire – he was to remain in this plane for eternity until he could fix what he had done._

_Now he was doomed to relive each moment in time, to embed the cries of despair of those who he had abandoned and slaughtered into his mind and very essence. He was doomed to watch for an eternity until each star in the galaxy would silently die and no more would be born from the remains. He was to be doomed to wander the dead universe, the lonely, silent grave of many billions of races until he learned the true meaning of his punishment. Only then would he earn forgiveness for his arrogance and cruelty._

-

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-

Red Alert had been sitting in the medical bay when it happened. There was a sudden glow of blue light. Red Alert cautiously edged over, holding his welder-turned-weapon aloft as he drew closer. He gasped when he saw the source of the beautiful blue light. The remaining shard of the AllSpark was glowing within its clear glass case. Moon Racer and Barricade raced over, intent on seeing what was happening. With trembling hands, Red Alert gently pried back the cover on the box. Ignoring the warning from both Moon Racer and Barricade, he tentatively picked the shard up. The shard of metal, no more than a foot in length, was nestled safely in his hand. There was nothing amiss except for the fact that it glowed brightly.

Moon Racer gently touched the shard of metal, cursing when it flashed white. Red Alert yelped and dropped the now-searing hot piece of metal, cradling the singed digits to his chassis. The shard then suddenly went out, leaving the occupants of the room in stunned silence. Barricade piped up, speaking, once he saw that neither Red Alert or Moon Racer were going to move.

"I'll go and get Prime, okay?"

"Sure, go ahead," the protectobot said absently, prodding at the shard with a tool. Moon Racer ran separate scans, squealing at the spike in radiation and energy levels. She began measuring the device with a caliper, chattering excitedly in Cybertronian.

"**Red Alert, I think it's starting to get bigger! Look, this part of the shard has grown by at least a millimeter! And it's grown in mass by a tenth of a gram. Is it growing back?"**

"**I can't answer that, Moon Racer. Be sure to record everything that you see," **Red Alert responded, being swept up in the excitement that Moon Racer broadcast. Barricade then made his way out of the medical bay, sprinting past Prowl. Prowl, who still hadn't quite gotten past the fact that there were ex-decepticons living on the base, was instantly on guard, his suspicion clouding his processor.

"Where are you off too," he called amiably, smiling at the similarly painted mech. Barricade paused in mid-step.

"I need to see Prime. It's an emergency," he responded, starting to walk once more.

"Oh? You should be reporting to me, then," Prowl said, the same easy going smile on his face but with a dangerous glint in his optics.

"I know, I know. It's not a security emergency…it's…ah. In the med bay. AllSpark shard," he said quickly, taking off toward Prime's office once more. Prowl blinked in confusion, processing the broken sentence.

"Wait – what happened to the shard? Wait up, Barricade!"

-

-

-

Prime had just checked off the last major thing on his list. He could cry in joy and relief. His list of things to do was now halfway taken care of. The protectobots had finally come up with a way to create fuel in a noninvasive manner. The civilian half of the base (called Autobot city…go figure) was more than just beams of metal. It now looked vaguely city-like. The living quarters had finally been built with a few mechs more than interested in starting a business or two. The ex-decepticons – could they actually be called that, Prime mused – were integrating quite nicely into the base.

The president was strangely cooperative and had promoted his assistant, Artie, up to liaison for the autobots. Sam was currently working to get his degree to become a permanent liaison for the autobots as well. The whole display in New York with Nightshade's emergency broadcast? The Department of Homeland Security had "investigated" and found an "elaborate" prank from a high tech hacker. The "hacker" was now being charged with a threat to national security. All in all, there were relatively few people that didn't believe the story, although there were quite a few websites speculating on aliens.

Sunstreaker, unbelievably, had become quite close with Soundwave and his casseticons…especially Ravage and Rumble, once he had apologized profusely. Quite a few optic ridges had risen when Sunstreaker walked into the commons room, with Ravage perched precariously on his shoulder. Rumble was sitting comfortably on the other shoulder, his friendly jibes at Ravage making the mechanical cat growl loudly and glare at the spy. Sunstreaker only laughed heartily. Gears had scoffed, laughing at Sunstreaker (who he had scathingly nicknamed the Blood Thirsty Buttercup). The tall melee warrior had merely walked over, looming over the minibot. The minibot in question squeaked in fear and nearly emptied his waste tanks right then and there. Sunstreaker reached out one hand and held it over Gears's head. Ravage leapt down nimbly, making his way over to the minibot. Ravage pounced, sitting on Gear's chest and growling very quietly.

"You had better watch your vocalizer, Gears. Rumble and I both know what you do when you think you're alone," the feline snarled, his words marred by his thick accent. Gear's optics widened and he began to splutter in indignation, shoving at the mechanical cat.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Ravage only leaned down and purred something quietly into Gears's audio, smirking as he leaned back. The minibot had fallen back limply, his optics wide in fear. Ravage then leapt back into Sunstreaker's hand, yowling when the warrior dumped him on his shoulder. The usually cool and suave casseticon scrabbled for hold on Sunstreaker's shoulder. He ended up dangling over the mech's shoulder, all four limbs splayed out. Gears then learned not to pick a fight with Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker would never pick a fight with someone that much smaller than him…but Ravage and Rumble _could_. They also had back up in the form of Buzzsaw and Ratbat, the both of which were expert pranksters.

-

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-

Yup. The traitor was the AllSpark. (giggles).

I bet no one thought of that. :D

And…they didn't attempt to re-bond just yet. You'll have to wait til the next chapter. ;D


	25. In Which There is SmutX2

Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Transformers in any way, shape, or form. Except for my OC's…and specific things. :D

Oh, by the way – VioletLight has the most amazing story about a femme named Nightshade. You guys need to go and read it. Oh, and my Nightshade and her Nightshade have no connection whatsoever, just so y'all know. :D

Warning: There is het!smut and implied smut in this chapter. Enjoy!

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"Ratchet…don't make me come in there."

"G'way…I'm fine…" Nightshade heard him make a spluttering noise and his engine rev quietly. Then she sighed heavily, leaning her forehead onto the door. Ratchet was stubborn, alright, but with a bad case of overexertion? Primus help them all.

"Ratchet, seriously. You don't sound so good. Please let me come in?" Nightshade leant into the door, listening intently. She heard quiet muttering before the lock on the door disengaged, the loud clunk echoing quietly around the apartment. She pushed the door open and found Ratchet back in the shower, steaming hot water pounding over his weary frame. She clucked disapprovingly before reaching over to shut the water off.

"Ratchet, go get under the drying hood. We'll get you dried off and in bed," she said, tugging the mech from underneath the shower head. He protested weakly, mumbling quietly that he was fine.

"No, you're not. Get under the drying vent, now," Nightshade finally snapped, pointing at the object. He grumbled and obeyed, shaking stray droplets of water from his frame like a wet dog. Nightshade squealed angrily, glaring up at him while she turned the vent on as high as it would go. Ratchet purred quietly, sinking against the wall, melting like a handful of putty. Nightshade then began drying him off, muttering about a certain irresponsible mech and overexertion. Ratchet ignored her and scooped her into his arms, also ignoring her screech of indignation and protest.

"Put me down-Ratchet-oohh…" His glossa started doing very interesting things to that one power line just beneath her collar armor, eliciting a few breathy moans from the femme's vocalizers. His mouth components then left the line, traveling slowly along a nearby sensory cable, nibbling as he went. Then he peppered her jaw line with kisses before he moved upwards, nipping at her lower lip before slanted his mouth over hers. Nightshade let out a soft moan, trying to pull away from him.

"Ratchet-you need to go to the med bay-stop it," she slurred, his glossa slipping past her lips once more. He ignored her, preferring to capture her mouth with his instead. She pushed him away, paying no attention to the low warning rumble she received. Ratchet sighed heavily before setting Nightshade back down on her feet. She grabbed his hands and tugged him to their berth. Ratchet, being the mech he was, took it the wrong way. Nightshade squawked when Ratchet wrapped his arms around her, tugging her down onto the berth beside him.

"Ratchet, as much as I would love to bond with you right now-ah!-you need to get to the med bay! Get off!" Ratchet made a soft whining noise before he stretched out on the berth. As a result of his action, he now covered ninety percent of the berth, leaving no space at all for Nightshade. She let out a huff as she realized that she was now buried under several tons of happily purring mech. She grumbled quietly before wriggling out from underneath him, ignoring the rather suggestive comment he made.

Just when she thought she was free, he wrapped an arm around her and tugged her close to him. His rumbling purring grew louder and his hands started to stray once more. Nightshade slapped his hands hard, hissing at him to keep his hands to himself. If only he acted this way when he wasn't sick, she thought wistfully, imagining all the things they could do once he was feeling better. Ratchet made a soft whimpering noise before settling down. His recharge subroutines won the fight and he sank into recharge.

-

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-

"Yup, it's official. The boss has a nasty little virus. That's what you get for overworking yourself, Ratch. I told you to recharge more or else your files will corrupt themselves, but do you listen to me? Nooo. Of course not. Nothing I ever have to say is important." Moon Racer was on a tangent, muttering like a demon as she puttered around the medical bay, reading scans and gathering supplies. Ratchet was lying on a berth, making soft whining noises. His engine hiccupped and revved, making the mech groan quietly. He was the epitome of pitiful right now, curled up on his side and clutching at his tanks. Nightshade was sitting beside him, stroking his helmet gently.

"This patch will fix him right up, but he'll need a day or two for his systems to reinitialize themselves and reboot," Moon Racer said, sending Ratchet a positively evil glare. Nightshade giggled quietly – now Ratchet knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a medic's wrath!

"You'll need to keep an optic on him. Make sure he gets _plenty of rest_," she continued, emphasizing the end of her sentence. Nightshade shot her an innocent look, pretending to not know what Moon Racer was talking about.

"Don't give me that look, Nightshade, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Moon Racer snapped, her left optic twitching.

"Moon Racer, how are things with you and Mirage going," Nightshade asked suddenly, a knowing smirk crossing her face. Ratchet groaned and rolled over to face the wall, cutting his auditory receptors off in the process. He did not want to be sick and he did not want to have to listen to femme gossip.

"He's a Pit-slaggin' tease!" Moon Racer snarled, her optics gleaming white. The scanner she was clutching in her hands now sported a lovely set of finger shaped dents. Nightshade made a sympathetic noise, patting her friend on the shoulder gently.

"What do you mean," she asked gently, making a note to punch Mirage the next time she saw him. Moon Racer let out a cry of anger and frustration, slamming the scanner in her hand onto the counter.

"Every single time we're about to do more than kiss, he backs off!"

"Moon Racer…he's…been raised differently than us. Unless you come out and say it directly he won't touch you…something about being some sort of gentlebot." Moon Racer paused, staring at Nightshade as if though she'd grown a second head.

"So this entire time, that fragger…"

"Yes. All you have to do is tell him to shag you and you shall receive."

"RED ALERT," Moon Racer bellowed, a wicked grin crossing her face. Nightshade grinned at her friend, patting her on the back. Red Alert poked his head into the room.

"Yes ma'am," he called out, cringing slightly under the intense glare she sent his way.

"I need you to watch the 'bay for a few cycles…I have some business to take care of."

"What if I've got plans? I'm tired of you two shouldering your work onto me when you're tired of working! I'm sick of it! What if I want to spend time with my mate?!"

"…you have a mate?"

"YES."

"Alright. I'll be back in a cycle or two," Moon Racer said, tossing Red Alert her identification tag. He made a strange noise and marched stiffly from the room, muttering angrily. Nightshade peered curiously after him, hoping that he didn't short circuit his logic center. She wouldn't be able to fix him.

-

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-

Moon Racer was proud of herself. With a few well timed compliments and a barrel of high grade, she had managed to get the access codes for Mirage's room (and swore Jazz to secrecy, as well). Now she was crouching in the darkness, hidden poorly by a rather large vase. Mirage was due to be back any minute now. A few minutes passed by in silence. Moon Racer huffed quietly. Where was he?

The door hissed open suddenly and she drew back, wincing at the loud clang her aft made as it hit the wall. Mirage walked into the room, tossing his rifle onto his couch and grumbling the entire time. Listening carefully, she could make out a few words. He was muttering something about the rookies and their inability to shoot. He groaned and stretched, trying to soothe his aching hydraulics. Moon Racer almost fell back onto her aft as she watched the lithe blue male stretch, showing off his wonderfully created body.

Shaking out of her daze, Moon Racer moved silently, sneaking up behind him. He stiffened, sensing someone behind him. Moon Racer shrieked as she suddenly found herself flying onto his berth, his hand at her throat, and a pistol in her face.

"I give! I give!"

"Moon Racer-what are-"

Mirage gasped in surprise and dropped the pistol onto the floor when Moon Racer grabbed onto his hips, roughly pulling him onto the berth. She tugged him down for a kiss, rolling him onto his back. He moaned softly, gripping her waist tightly. Then he pushed her away gently, apologizing profusely for being so bold and whatnot. Moon Racer held up one hand to stem his protests.

"Mirage, either you let me finish what I'm doing or I will walk out of this room and you won't be getting any _at all_," she growled, her optics glowing white in anger. He nodded, a slow smirk crossing his face.

"But of course, my dear lady," he purred, his hands straying along the edges of her armor, "who am I to deny you your pleasure?"

-

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-

"Nightshade, I promise that I'm all better," Ratchet grumbled. Nightshade was currently monitoring his system realignment. She nodded, satisfied with his progress, and disconnected the wires. He looked up hopefully.

"I can leave now, right?"

"Yes, you can. You may be fully fixed, but you still need to rest," Moon Racer said, smirking over at Nightshade. Nightshade rolled her optics before dumping her used equipment in a cleaning bin.

"Yes, Ratchet will get all the rest he needs," Nightshade said.

Ratchet responded by scooping Nightshade into his arms.

"Keep an optic on the 'bay. I'll be back tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon at the latest," he said bluntly, shifting Nightshade slightly in his arms.

"Put me down!"

Nightshade squawked as she realized his intentions, a slow hot blush spreading across her cheek plates. He didn't wait for an answer and he strode out of the medical bay, his strides quick and determined. She began protesting. She could walk on her own, thank you very much, and they were above acting like primitive humans. Jazz grinned wickedly before letting out a low wolf whistle. Sunstreaker and his brother, who had both been walking down the hallway toward the commons room, both stopped and made a few lewd suggestions that made Nightshade's cheek plates glow in mortification.

Mere minutes later, which was an eternity for Ratchet, they arrived back at their room. He gently set her down on her feet before turning to lock the door. The lock slid into place with a satisfying thunk. Ratchet turned to her, advancing slowly. Nightshade backed into their room, a teasing smirk on her face. The teasing smirk soon disappeared when she realized that Ratchet's energy levels had dropped significantly.

"Oh, Ratchet, you've overexerted yourself again, go lay down and I'll get you some energon," she said, moving to the door. However, he planted himself between Nightshade and her only chance of escape.

"Ratchet, move so-"

"You aren't leaving this room until you've bonded with me," he purred, scooping her up and depositing her onto the berth once more. Nightshade squealed as his mouth components started traveling up her inner thigh, his glossa dipping into spaces she never knew existed. Desire pooled in her abdomen at his touch, making her fans stutter in anticipation. Her fuel lines felt like they carried liquid fire, spreading it throughout her entire body. She leaned back to enjoy the ride and mewled his name softly when he found a previously undiscovered pleasure receptor. Then she realized what he was doing. Grabbing a hold of his chevron, she hissed at him.

"Ratchet, you heard Moon Racer, you need to rest-"

"I'm not tired, femme, now let go of me," he growled quietly. Nightshade nearly moaned at the unrestrained passion in his voice, the low rough tone of it sending tremors down her spinal support. She shook her head and tried to compose herself.

"Ratchet, no. You need to-aiiieeeeeeee!"

He chuckled as he continued teasing the motor chip he had just discovered, watching as her tremors abated.

"What were you saying? I suggest you pick very carefully," he said quietly, an evil smile gracing his face plates.

"Ratchet! Stop touching me-oh!"

"Stop touching you? Why would I do that?"

He looked up at her, a shameless smirk on his face. He'd been caressing the plates on her abdomen, nipping softly at the raised edges, while using one hand to stroke any wires within reach. Then he moved slowly upwards, crawling over her long lithe frame.

Nightshade groaned softly, clutching at his shoulders as he moved closer. She pulled him down for a kiss, her glossa snaking past his lips and into his mouth, massaging his glossa gently. The sudden flash of heat from his interface unit booting up almost made her overload right then and there. She had almost forgotten just how addictive mating was.

She had heard from a few femmes that overloading with a medic was absolutely exquisite…and Nightshade agreed heartily. Medics were a special breed; they could do things with their hands that regular mechs couldn't. Their extensive knowledge of the femme body and extremely sensitive hands was almost dizzying when combined with someone of Ratchet's expertise and caliber. Because of that, she had received quite a few jealous looks when she was introduced as Ratchet's bonded. Those errant thoughts disappeared from her processor as Ratchet groaned softly, his optics shuttered.

"Ratchet, are you okay? I knew I shouldn't have let you do all that-"

"I'm just a bit tired," he said quietly before returning to his previous place on top of her. Nightshade clucked worriedly and pushed him into the berth, running a few scans. His energy reserves had dipped below fifty percent. While it wasn't an emergency, if he overloaded he would probably be sent into a miniature stasis lock…and they'd have to deal with Moon Racer and Red Alert.

"Ratchet, you need some energon before you start your recharge sequence," she said, pushing him off and hurrying over to the medical energon that Moon Racer had thoughtfully sent home with them. She gave it to Ratchet. He peered down into the cube, shuddering at the slight green glow it emitted. Then he reluctantly slugged it back in one go. Ratchet spluttered at the aftertaste, glaring at her. Nightshade scanned him once more. His energy was back up to a relatively healthy seventy percent.

"Now start your-ack!"

He had grabbed her hips and tugged her close to him, cutting her off in the middle of her sentence with a searing kiss. She managed to pull away from him long enough to speak.

"Ratchet you're still weak, you're not up to this," she said, pushing against his chest weakly. He growled softly.

"Nightshade you are not leaving this berth until we have bonded, or have you forgotten your promise? Or...should I just punish you now," he purred quietly, suggestively tweaking a pair of pleasure receptors. She moaned and shuddered before snapping at him.

"As much as I would love for you to implement your threat, you're still not seeing my concerns! You can't hold yourself up for much longer, you're stressing your hydraulics and your motor cables! Besides, I wouldn't want you to pass out while we're bonding," Nightshade said, before Ratchet hissed quietly. Then she nearly shrieked as he rolled onto his back, dragging her on top of him.

"This ought to do it," he said cheekily, grinning up at her, "you see? I won't be straining myself then."

"And I have to do all the work?"

"Hey, don't give me that, I've been doing all the work!"

"Shove it," she growled, trying to regain some of her dignity.

"Where would you like me to shove it," he purred up at her, laughing at the blush that spread across her cheeks.

He hooked his hands behind her knees, effectively keeping her in place, keeping her from moving from straddling his abdomen. At her vague protests, he used his thumbs to trace tiny circles on her exposed knee joints. She let out a soft moan, splaying her hands across his chest as she tried to compose herself. Ratchet purred contentedly with her reaction.

Boldly, he moved his hands upwards, using one hand to stroke her pelvic joint, while the fingers of the other moved toward her interface port, stroking and tugging at wires as it went along. Nightshade retaliated, dipping her tiny fingers into the seams and crevasses of his armor. She still remembered each and every single one of his sweet spots, especially the one in the center of his chest. She used her glossa to trace the glyphs inscribed on his chest, nibbling gently along the raised portions of his armor. He cried something incoherent out, bucking against her. Nightshade lost her balance and flew forwards, barely catching herself. Ratchet helped her back up by gripping her hips tightly. He gave her a sheepish smile. To this, she huffed quietly, giving him a mild glare.

Nightshade rolled her optics before grinding her interface port against his, watching as his regal features twisted in agonized pleasure. He whimpered her name softly. The fingers splayed across her back and waist tightened almost painfully, urging her to move her hips a little bit faster. She complied, teasing him mercilessly. He cried her name out once more, very nearly arching off of the berth.

"Night, if you keep doing that I'm not going to last much longer," he whispered roughly, his sentence interspersed with gasps and moans. She gave him a mischievous smirk before leaning down to whisper into his auditory receptor.

"If you want to bond with me you'll make yourself last, Ratchet," she whispered quietly, her glossa snaking out to flick against his receptor at the end of her sentence. He made an interesting noise, something between a moan and a grunt, before he settled back in the berth. A silent mantra ran through his computing center – _I will not overload without Nightshade, I will not overload without Nightshade _– as she grew more comfortable with being the one to initiate the bond.

"Open your chest plates, love," she said quietly, settling back onto his abdomen. He obeyed instantly, hoping to Primus that she would have mercy on him. She reached out gently to caress the brightly shining orb in his chest. Her spark sang at the contact, almost leaping from her chest to bind itself to Ratchet's. Bright blue light spilled from his chest, outlining her delicate features sharply. His spark burned like white fire at her touch, the light nearly blinding Nightshade. She hissed as the neon blue electricity danced up her arms, a frenzy of snaking energy, directly into her spark chamber. Nightshade almost screamed as the heat pooled in her chest and she writhed, calling Ratchet's name. Her chest plates and spark chamber opened of their own accord, desperately seeking its other half.

She ducked down to press her chest against his. Lightning bolts crackled and danced from their sparks, burning distinct patterns into the cushions beneath them. Nightshade pressed her spark against Ratchet's and screamed as her world exploded in a flash of pure pleasure and light. Their sparks flew together, recognizing one another instantly. The months of separation caught up to them and they both yelled once more, clutching at one another tightly as feedback poured from pent up and frustrated systems. Their love and dedication for one another surged through the icy walls they'd built around their sparks, shattering their defenses.

They lay bared to the soul, stripped of their defenses. Their sparks joined as one, suspended in their chests, flashing and pulsating as a single spark. Nightshade felt Ratchet thrashing beneath her, whimpering her name. She let out a low, muffled sob, ignoring the stinging at her optics as their sparks merged together fully, bathing them in nothing but pure love and contentment.

Then pleasure suddenly surged through their systems. Ratchet almost bucked her off as he tried to bring their interface ports together. She moved again, hissing when his hands guided their ports together. Ratchet let out a circuit melting moan as he gripped her hips even more tightly, rocking against her. Nightshade reached up and pushed her chest against his. Ratchet initiated their connection and she cried out at the sheer unbridled passion he sent to her, making her writhe. His connection was fast and rough, earning a harsh cry of pleasure from the femme.

He drew his knees up, sending the femme forward onto her hands. She pressed her chest against his, shuddering. They began moving in cadence, their breathy moans a testament to their activities.

"F-faster," he begged quietly, arching his chest against hers. She obliged the best she could, moving faster. This wasn't enough for him and he flipped the both of them over, pushing his chest against hers. He began moving at a clipped tempo, his thrusts quick and even. Nightshade arched beneath him, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. She let out a long keening cry as he moved harder and faster, sending her spark into a fluttering frenzy. Writhing in absolute ecstasy beneath him, she cried his name out.

Ratchet nuzzled her neck softly before biting down, ignoring her squeak of protest. Then he eased the sting away with his glossa. The squeak turned into soft moans as he continued his sensual assault to the sensitive circuitry in her neck. Their hands roamed over one another's frames, electricity snapping and sparking in the air between their bodies. Ratchet caught Nightshade's lips once more, his glossa moving in cadence with the movement of his chest.

Nightshade's moans were drowned out by Ratchet's, his entire frame shuddering as he drove his spark against hers again and again. She shuttered her optics as her body started to tense, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. Nightshade clawed at his back, leaving streaks of blue paint in their wake. Ratchet's fingers nimbly stroked the wires buried in her back armor, earning a few more heated moans from Nightshade. He kissed her once more, teasing her with a long slow kiss, his glossa slowly caressing the contours of her mouth.

Familiar messages of imminent overload flashed across her vision. She gasped and arched into his chest once more, her whimpers growing louder. Ratchet continued thrusting his chest against hers, grunting softly as his energy began to wane. Nightshade's entire body tensed and she whimpered in anticipation of her overload. Mere seconds later, she overloaded, her scream muffled by his mouth on hers. She arched into him, her fingers digging into the seams of his armor painfully. Ratchet hissed quietly, giving her a low growl as a warning. With one final thrust, Ratchet overloaded, his roar of approval almost deafening her. Tingling heat surged from their interface ports, sending strong pulses of heat through their bodies. They remained entangled in each other's limbs as they rode out their waves of pleasure, each one whimpering the other's designation. Finally the waves subsided, leaving two very happy but exhausted beings on the berth.

Ratchet shuddered before collapsing on the berth beside her, his systems utterly spent. He trembled as he weakly tugged her closer, relishing in their newly established bond. Love and pure joy washed out from both ends, engulfing the both of them. A few tears of joy escaped from Nightshade's optics and she clung to him, both physically and through their bond.

Ratchet only wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close and murmuring soothingly. He managed to send her a short burst of love before he completely shut down. Nightshade shot up, worried, but the soft hum of his systems reassured her. She scanned him. He was back down to thirty percent energy, but he would be fine with a nice long recharge. Nightshade then curled up beside him, smiling when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

She started her recharge subroutines, relishing in the fact that her mate was hers and only hers once more. Nightshade basked in the radiant and powerful presence she knew as her mate for a few seconds before finally giving into the recharge sequence.

-

-

-

Nightshade and Ratchet cringed under the harsh glares they received from both Moon Racer and Red Alert.

"I specifically told you that Ratchet needed plenty of rest, but did you listen to me? No, no one ever listens to me," Moon Racer growled, slamming a scanner onto the counter. Red Alert followed closely behind, muttering away as he scanned Ratchet.

"Your systems are running on fifteen percent energy. You've managed to blow two fuses and strip a cog. You've also managed to fuse the wires in your chest to your armor," Red Alert snapped, visually examining Ratchet's chest. Red Alert pulled a few meters of wiring from a nearby bin, along with a wire cutting tool and a soldering iron.

"And don't even get me started on what you did to Nightshade! Her shell is melted. Do you know how pit-slaggin' hard it is to melt a femme's shell?! You need to be gentler with her," Red Alert snapped, giving Ratchet the most evil glare he could conjure up.

"But she likes it-"

"One more word, Ratchet," Nightshade hissed, glaring at him.

"Lie down," Red Alert said, examining the damage that Ratchet had done to himself.

"How did you do this to yourself," Moon Racer asked, peeling back the damaged armor from Ratchet's chest. She already knew the answer but had to ask, just for official records. Moon Racer was honestly happy that Ratchet and Nightshade had reestablished their bond but they should have waited – and they should have taken it a little bit more easily.

"I was moving furniture," Ratchet dead panned, his face and tone completely serious. Nightshade managed to hide her snort of laughter as a hacking cough. Moon Racer stopped and stared at him.

"You were moving furniture," Moon Racer repeated, her voice incredulous.

"Yes, that couch was pretty heavy."

"I suppose the couch left streaks of Nightshade colored paint down your back?"

"No, not really. Nightshade tripped over a rug and fell on me."

Nightshade was having some sort of silent fit over in the corner. Cleaning fluid tears were streaming out of her optics and the strangest choking noises were coming from her vocalizers. Moon Racer rolled her optics up to the ceiling and muttered something about Primus and stupid 'bots acting like younglings. Then she turned an evil glare over at Nightshade, who hiccupped quietly and gave her an innocent look before bursting into silent giggles.

"Nightshade, while I'm happy that you and Ratchet have reestablished your bond, interfacing will have to wait until I'm through patching this lug-head up."

"How long will that be?"

"Oh, a few days, at least," Moon Racer said, an evil smirk on her face. She ignored the spluttering from the both of them and started writing up her report.

Nightshade then sauntered over to Moon Racer and whispered something into her audio receptor.

"You wouldn't dare," Moon Racer snarled, her optics starting to glow white.

"Oh, yes, I would," Nightshade said sweetly.

"…fine. He'll be out in less than a day," Moon Racer growled, shoving equipment back to their proper places.

"Thanks, babe," Nightshade said brightly, walking back over to Ratchet and settling beside him.

"What did you say to her?"

"I threatened to cash in on a bet that Mirage owed me…and I was going to make him swear to not interface for the next two months," she said quietly, smirking.

-

-

-

Ehehehe. I'm sorry this took so long, but I was studying for my SATs and four other AP classes….and I'm starting an internship with CareFlite in a few weeks, so I can't guarantee quick updates. Sorry :(

And I took a picture of Megatron in a dress. Heehee. If anyone wants to see it, drop me a line and I'll send ye the link. ;D

Litahatchee - totally forgot to answer your question. No, she can't catch the virus from him because he's got corrupted temp. files. :O


	26. In Which There is Departure

Chapter 26

Disclaimer: If you can't tell that I don't own these guys after twenty five chapters, then you've got issues. I only own Nightshade. :D No suing, please, because I'm dirt poor.

And another thank you goes to LittleMewLugia for allowing me to borrow the term "sub-adult". If you want to use it, go ask her. Not me.

AND I've decided that there are different levels of society on Cybertron. They are kind of like castes, but they are divided based on skill and ability. Since I am uncreative, I will be using: alpha, beta, delta, gamma, and epsilon. Alpha is the one that requires the most dedication and responsibility – Prime and his advisors, along with some medical professions. Epsilon is the one that doesn't require nearly as much, like waste management. They are all equal in the eyes of law and society…they just have different pay.

And just so you know, Nightshade is not a brave femme. She's a right coward, that's what she is.

**Bold is Cybertronian.**

00000

Optimus felt his chest swell proudly as he looked over the gleaming metal city. Granted, they'd only finished four housing units and several storage units, but they had a massive city planned. The shuttles full of colonists and younglings were due in less than two months. Optimus sighed happily. An arm snaked around his waist and he looked down. Elita was standing beside him, leaning her head against his chest plates.

"It's beautiful, isn't it," he asked quietly, his optics roving over the freshly painted buildings. There was the beginning of a plaza a few hundred yards, along with a small park. Not only had they built homes for the autobots, but they had managed to build a few human sized homes.

Ratchet and Wheeljack had finished the nursery a few months ago. Sirius's twin charges, Ember and Evergreen, had both been upgraded into sub-adults. The poor mech now had to keep both femmes out of trouble, which was quite difficult. They were just as rambunctious and mischievous as the older set of twins. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had taken the femmes under their wings, promising to teach them everything they knew about pranks and how to cause mayhem. Ember and Evergreen were naturals at causing Red Alert's CPU to crash and not get caught doing it. As a result, Jazz had innocently offered to teach them the tricks of the spying business, and now no mech or femme in the base was safe from the twin femmes. Prime was beginning to think that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were right little angels compared to those two. He shook his head slightly, a small smile gracing his faceplates.

Then Optimus's computing center moved on. Sirius had raised the twins by himself and he had come to care for them as if they were his own. Optimus wondered what it would be like to interact with a little one. Sure, he and Elita had kept an optic on Ember and Evergreen while Ratchet and Nightshade were out of commission, but it was only for a few days, and Elita had done most of the work. What would it be like to have a little one of his own? A little mech that he could teach how to fight, and to shoot, and to transform, and to-

"Optimus," Elita prompted, patting her mate gently. He had been staring off into the sky with a dazed smile on his face.

"What-oh. Yes?"

"You were day dreaming again," she said, smiling up at him. He shrugged slightly and embraced her tenderly, nuzzling the side of her neck.

"I was just thinking…"

"About what? You were gone for a few breems," Elita said, placing her hands on her hips.

"I was…never mind. You'll tell me that I'm silly," he said, a teasing smirk crossing his face. Elita only rolled her optics.

"I _always _think you're a silly mech, darling. Now tell me, or do I have to do this?" She slipped her fingers underneath the armor on his sides, tugging on the wires gently. Optimus gasped and managed to hold the laughter down. Elita jerked on the wires again, earning soft laughter from Optimus.

"Stop! I give! You crazy femme," he growled playfully, digging his own digits into her sides. She collapsed in silent laughter, batting his hands away. They eventually settled down underneath a large oak tree, basking in the setting sun. Elita rested her head against his chest plates. The soft droning hum of his systems and the steady beat of his fuel pump almost lulled her into recharge.

"Optimus…tell me," she said, craning her head to look up to him. He paused and pretended to think about it, stroking his chin plates gently.

"I don't know, Elita, you've been rather naughty…"

"Optimus!" Elita was scandalized. She had done nothing to merit being called naughty…yet.

"I'm just kidding…"

At her glare, he relented. A small smile crossed his face plates. Elita squeaked when he suddenly swept her into his arms, settling her across his lap. _Damn being so much smaller than him_, she thought, crossing her arms. She was a good six or seven feet shorter than him, and much more slender. This being said, he could easily pick her up with one hand. He used to tease her quite a bit about her size, comparing her to something called a firecracker. That was before she really showed him her temper. After staring down the business end of her weapon, he left her alone.

"Now, tell me."

"Elita…I was thinking…what would you say to starting a family unit?"

At his words, Elita felt her fuel pump freeze. Was he actually ready to have a sparkling of his own? Optimus felt Elita stiffen in his arms. He knew that she had wanted a little one of her own for the longest time.

"Don't frag with me, Optimus," she said quietly.

"I'm not…It's just that things are starting to slow down. I just wanted to know if you wanted to try-"

He was silenced by her lips on his.

"Yes."

00000

Chromia was accosted by Elita in the hallway. Elita grabbed Chromia's arm and dragged her into one of the nearby offices, ignoring the femme's protests. Chromia spluttered and yanked her arm from Elita's hand once they'd entered the office.

"Elita, I was talking to someone! What's with the smile on your face…does it have anything to do with that visit to the city? Oh, Primus, don't tell me you've already baptized one of the living quarters-"

"No, you dirty minded femme! Optimus just told me that he wanted to try for a sparkling!"

Chromia squealed, throwing her arms around her friend. Elita and Optimus's creation would be cute! Elita only giggled, only half-listening to her friend's babbling. Her computing center was whirling with errant thoughts – what would it look like? Would it be a mech or a femme? What colors were they going to pick?

"-you're so lucky, Ironhide just wants to interface. I should just give him an ultimatum: either we try for a little one or he doesn't get any more interfacing for the rest of his life…Are you listening to me?"

"No, I'm sorry. I kind of tuned you out after you said Ironhide only wants interfacing."

"Fragger – but seriously. I'm so happy for you, Elita! Have you decided on names? Or if you're going to have more than one? Or-"

"Chromia, slow down! We just decided to try for one yesterday! Calm your processes!"

"I can't help it. Sparklings…" she sighed heavily, remembering her duties as an attendant at one of the nurseries in Iacon. She had practically raised Bumblebee since he was a little spark. His femme creator did not survive long after the birth. She had been weakened by clashes in her firewall and energon converters. Consequently, her systems crashed shortly afterwards, sending her into a stasis lock that no one could rouse her from.

"I know, Chromia. But the shuttle's due in two or so months. Maybe you could convince Ironhide to help you create one," Elita said, shuttering one optic in a wink. Chromia giggled quietly, her computing center conjuring up methods of torture.

00000

The weeks went by far too quickly for Ratchet's liking. If he thought things were bad with just Sunstreaker and Sideswipe… He had gathered up all of the capable femmes on the base to discuss nursery duties with them. Six femmes had instantly volunteered themselves to be attendants for the little ones, including Nightshade. Ratchet felt his spark twist sadly at that. His mate had been longing for a sparkling since their first bond, but since her files were corrupted, they had both agreed not to try for one. It would save them, mostly Nightshade, from the spark-wrenching grief of false hope and disappointment.

Nightshade was currently going over the roster with Epsilon. Epsilon was much younger than Nightshade. In fact, she was barely out of her sub-adult stages. The tiny green and white femme was bright and eager, a breath of fresh air in the dreary stuffiness of being surrounded by mechs. Epsilon's good cheer was absolutely contagious and Nightshade soon found herself giggling along with the femme.

While Elita and Chromia both wanted to work in the nursery, they both realized that they could not simply drop their duties as commander and second in command. They had sent Moon Racer and Firestar in their stead. Why anyone would send Firestar into a nursery was beyond Nightshade. The crazy femme was just as good as Wheeljack at blowing things and herself up. Nightshade smirked at this thought – did Wheeljack have a mate? If not, she could probably set him up with Firestar…or not. Their offspring would have a penchant of blowing itself up at random opportunities. Nightshade had to stifle a giggle at the sudden image of a miniature Wheeljack building explosives from a tin can, batteries, and a spare bit of wire.

The little glitch would be perfect for Firestar and her eccentric behavior. As Nightshade mused, she walked around the nursery. It was a quaint little room, set off by cream colored walls and faux wood beneath her feet. Optimus had originally planned for the room to be white and grey, but Elita had wrestled the data pad from his hands and taken over decorating. The look on Prime's face was absolutely entertaining as Elita scrapped his well thought out plans. He had spluttered quietly but Elita had shot him a nasty glare. Once Optimus had relented, she began to rework the design to be a beautiful little room for younglings and sparklings alike to play in.

Epsilon started chattering once more, breaking the silence that had descended into the room. Nightshade felt a smile break out over her face plates. This little femme could brighten anyone's day.

00000

Optimus stood on the hillside with Elita by his side. He picked at his armor, crinkling his nasal plates in strong disapproval of the current situation. His armor was highly polished. In fact, it was so polished that Sam had commented on seeing his reflection in Optimus's aft. That had been before Optimus threatened to "accidentally" step in his flower beds. Sam had come to thought of his lawn and backyard almost like his father did, but that was an entirely different story. A loud noise startled him from his musings. The shuttle – more like ship – came into view over the horizon, easily distinguishable from the nighttime clouds by the vast array of twinkling lights on its belly. The lights on the landing strip flashed into life, a beacon to guide the colonists into their new home. The deafening roar of the engines did not deter any of the mechs or femmes in the welcoming party; in fact, it served to heighten the apprehension and excitement in the air. The vessel landed gently, a slight creaking noise coming from the landing gear. After what seemed to be an eternity, the ship's belly distended and a ramp silently extended to the ground. Optimus and Red Alert, along with Barricade, Ratchet, Jazz, and Prowl approached the ship. The human-and-femme half of the reception was kept a few hundred yards away. The ship had not made contact with them. As a result, there was no way of knowing if the mechs aboard the ship were as peaceful as they said they were.

Two tall figures appeared in the opening, set off by a blinding white square of light. They walked down the ramp, heads held high. They were another group of Neutrals. Curious amber optics roved over the surroundings before settling on the imposing figure of Optimus Prime. The first mech, the captain of the ship, bowed his head to Optimus, waiting for him to speak.

"Welcome home," Optimus finally managed to say, laying his hand on the mech's shoulder, a friendly gesture of camaraderie. The mech nodded, trying to speak.

"Thank you, sir, for extending your home to us," the captain said. He had been in outer space for so long, he had almost forgotten how sweet it was to feel solid land beneath his feet. He had almost forgotten how wonderful it was to have a light breeze caressing his armor. He had almost forgotten what his own kind looked like. Optimus squeezed the mech's shoulder gently, startling him out of his musing.

"Captain, I do believe introductions are in order. I am Optimus Prime, commander of our base. Prowl and Jazz are my second in command officers. This is Red Alert, my chief of security. This is Barricade, our covert-tactics specialist and his partner, Frenzy. Finally, this is Ratchet, our chief medical officer."

The mech nodded, absorbing the information. Then Optimus waved the femmes and humans over. Sam clutched at Mikaela's hand, tugging her closer to their newest group of arrivals. Will and Fig followed at a more sedate speed, hanging back so that Keller would not have to walk alone. There were several other humans associated with various other governmental positions who followed rather hesitantly. Not a single one of these humans were quite ready to accept that there were, in fact, aliens living among them. Artie, the president's assistant (now official liaison), followed eagerly, babbling nervously to one of the shortest femmes.

Elita and Chromia led the femme half of the group,

"This is my life mate and commander of the femmes, Elita One."

"I am Sigma," the mech said quietly, bowing to the femmes.

"I am pleased to meet you, Captain," Elita said, giving him a kind smile.

"Please, Commander. Call me Sigma."

"Then you shall have to call me Elita."

"As you wish, Elita."

"Ah, yes. This is my second in command, Chromia." Chromia shook the mech's hand heartily, greeting him politely.

"This is Firestar. She specializes in weapons, explosives, and destroying things." The black and orange femme waved cheerily, winking and blowing Sigma a subtle kiss. Sigma blushed a tiny bit, surprised at the femme's boldness. Elita rolled her optics and quietly chastised her before moving on.

"This is Beta, my third in command, navigations and communications specialist. The one hiding behind Beta is Moon Racer, medical officer and repairs specialist." Moon Racer and Beta both waved shyly, embarrassed by Elita's emphasis on their titles. Moon Racer sheepishly came out from behind Beta. The purple femme growled quietly at Moon Racer.

"Finally, this is Nightshade. She is also a medical officer and officer in the nursery." Nightshade blushed slightly and fidgeted, giving Sigma a bashful smile.

"I am honored to meet you all," he said, bowing low to the gathering of femmes, "Please let me introduce my second in command, Crosswise."

Nightshade froze and stared, her optics wide with shock and hope. The mech that had been hanging back in the shadows stepped forward, a pleasant smile on his face. He was a tall black and silver mech with glowing yellow optics. He greeted Optimus warmly before looking over the congregation of humans and femmes. His optics alighted on Nightshade and he froze, his optics wide in disbelief. Nightshade edged closer, reaching out to touch the mech's arm. Once she realized that he wasn't a cruel illusion, her face broke into a radiant grin. Then she flung her arms around him, sobbing quietly. She couldn't believe it, she honestly couldn't. After so many years apart, after _centuries_ of not seeing his kind smile, she had thought him to be dead. Nightshade felt her spark sing at the fact that it wasn't a lie, that it wasn't an imposter, and she started laughing quietly.

"Nightshade, is that really you," the mech asked, stroking her back. Ratchet growled quietly, his hands clenching into fists. Jazz put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, pulling him back gently. Harming a Neutral was a big no-no.

"I can't believe it's really you! After all these y-years," Nightshade said, managing to speak around her gentle sobbing. Her arms tightened around the mech's waist. Nightshade continued alternating between laughing and crying, spouting off exclamations of joy.

"Oh, my little sparkling…my little girl…How I've missed you," the mech mumbled quietly, holding his daughter close. Nightshade then began laughing quietly, kissing her father's cheek plate. She hugged him again, as though to reassure herself that he wasn't a hallucination.

"Don't call me that, daddy!"

Ratchet relaxed once he heard her exclaim that this strange mech was her father. Jazz grinned at him, knowing exactly what was going through the mech's processing unit.

"Oh, I have someone I'd like you to meet," Crosswise said, a mischievous look in his optic. Nightshade peered up at him, curiously. When he didn't move or speak, she grew impatient.

"Who is it? Who? Tell me!"

"Calm your processes, little one!"

There was a white blur and before Nightshade knew what was happening she was wrapped tightly in a pair of arms. Attached to these arms was a blubbering femme.

"Mother!"

"**Oh, my little sparkling, you've grown so much! What are you doing here? I thought we sent you to Varxelm! And where is your dancer's emblem? Did you lose it? I knew I shouldn't have given it to you before you graduated – and you're absolutely filthy! What on Cybertron have you been doing? Is that a weld mark? Why are your optics blue? What's going on? Why are we out in the open like this?"**

Nightshade blushed at her femme-creator's antics.

"**Mother! One subject at a time! As for why I'm here, you should ask Optimus,**" she said, smirking over at the leader. Day Lily sent him a caustic glare. Optimus shrugged. It wasn't his fault that Nightshade had posed as a male. Then again, now he had something that he could use in his defense.

"**He didn't recruit you, did he? Oh, Primus…you haven't been fighting, have you? Is that where that weld mark came from? Are you alright, darling? Do you hurt anywhere? Prime, where's your medic!"**

"Mother! Calm down! Yes, I've been fighting. Yes, that's where I got the weld mark from. And yes, I'm fine! I don't hurt…oh. That reminds me-"

"**Oh, that's good. I think. I don't approve of you fighting, young lady! You need to find yourself a good strong mech and settle down…hm…who was that mech that was pursuing you? I think his name was-"**

"Lily! Nightshade does not need to be involved with a mech right now! She's too young," Crosswise interrupted gently, giving his bond-mate a stern glare. Then he noticed the look on Nightshade's face, one that spoke volumes of what she felt inside. She looked extremely nervous, a look of "oh, shit" plastered on her face.

"You're not involved with anyone, are you?"

"**Uhm…kind of?"**

"**How involved is 'kind of', Nightshade? Don't tell me that you're already being courted by someone! This is splendid! Where is he? I want to meet him! What does he look like? What's his background? Does he have good breeding?"**

Nightshade turned to Ratchet and waved him over, sending him a sheepish wave of apology through their bond. Ratchet approached, placing a hand on Nightshade's waist. He towered over the extremely petite Day Lily. Cross Wise looked down at the mech, his optics narrowed.

"**He's very handsome, Nightshade, you picked well. He seems like he will be an excellent sire. He's quite tall. A bit too broad in the shoulders, but that can be forgiven…and red? Nightshade, I thought you liked blue mechs. Or did you give up on, oh…what is his name. Mirage, I think. I'm not sure. Oh, well. I suppose this one will do."**

"_He_ can hear you, mother. And Mirage is my best friend. I thought we already went over this."

Day Lily shrugged delicately, ignoring the look of mortification on her daughter's face and the shock on Ratchet's face plates. Bumblebee was sitting off to one side, quietly translating everything that was said for Sam and Mikaela. The two humans were convulsing in silent laughter at the thorough examination.

"**He came from a very nice family. And quite wealthy, too. What does this one do? Don't tell me he's just a soldier, I don't approve of fighting. You know that very well."**

"He's the chief medical officer-"

"**A medic? I suppose that will do. Have you been looking at anyone else? I'm not too sure about this one, Nightshade darling. How about Leo? I know he's here-"**

"Mother, please. Let me finish speaking," Nightshade asked quietly.

"**Fine, go ahead. Just ignore me. I'm trying to help you find a nice mech to settle down with, and this is how I'm repaid? You are far too cheeky and impudent, Nightshade. What kind of mech are you going to attract? Some rude and callous one, I bet!"**

Nightshade almost winced at just how correct her mother was. Ratchet was, indeed, rude and callous. Did her mother happen to know how to read logic centers? It seemed like it.

"**Mother, father. May I introduce my bonded, Ratchet."**

Day Lily broke off in the middle of her rambling muttering to stare at Nightshade. Crosswise choked quietly before turning furious optics to the femme. Then he glared at Ratchet. The frigid glare of absolute loathing sent a shiver down Ratchet's relay. He was _so_ fragged.

"Bonded? As in, you've committed yourself to him?"

"Y-yes, daddy, and-"

"**For the love of Primus, Nightshade, tell me that he's at least a beta. Please don't tell me he's an epsilon. Don't break your poor mother's spark."**

"**Actually, I was created from an alpha house, so you needn't worry, madam," **Ratchet responded, bowing to the femme. Day Lily looked shocked but nodded, a happy smile crossing her face. Crosswise glared a bit more before speaking, his tone cold and angry.

"What was your purpose before the war?"

"I…I was a politician," Ratchet said, cursing his mild stutter. Crosswise was quite a large and powerful mech, probably twice what Ratchet was and could probably break him in half with his smallest finger. Crosswise snorted, a sharp noise of gears grinding.

"Let me guess…you managed the waste sector?"

"No, sir, I did not manage that. I was appointed as the main liaison between the High Council of Ancients and Prime before I was injured," Ratchet said, his optics narrowing slightly in defiance. Crosswise shook his head.

"Nightshade…a politician? I thought I raised you better than that."

"Father, he's a medic now," Nightshade said quietly and gently, rubbing behind her audio. The grip on her waist tightened a bit more as the two mechs glared at one another.

"**At least he's an alpha,"** Day Lily piped up, feeling ignored.

"Day Lily! Our daughter has run off with some strange mech that we've never met! That's all you can say?!" Crosswise snapped, glaring at his bond-mate.

"**Don't you dare talk to me like that, Crosswise! You will sleep out in the hallway if you keep that tone with me. He's a decent looking mech, he can obviously provide for her, and he seems reasonably intelligent. Besides, he's an alpha, just like you. If he's chief medical officer, he's obviously competent. Besides, he is Nightshade's spark-mate," **Day Lily said delicately, giving her mate a scathing glare that made him back down.

"**And you. How dare you touch my daughter! You didn't even bother to wait and see if she had any family left! Don't give me that look! Where do you think you're going, Nightshade?! I thought I raised you better! Where is Mirage? I'm going to kill that boy! He was your appointed guardian for a reason!" **she growled, her optics glowing white. Day Lily's usually soft and melodic voice rose to a dull roar, punctuated with a few jabs to the chest for Ratchet and a solid wallop to the back of the head for Nightshade, who had been trying to duck behind her bonded. Day Lily looked around, noting how their family 'discussion' had attracted quite a bit of attention. She calmed instantly, clearing her throat softly.

"**We will continue our discussion later. Nightshade, you will be coming with me. We need to have a talk. You may return to your mate once we are finished,"** Day Lily waved the mech away, ignoring the fact that he had opened his mouth to speak, **"Come along, Nightshade."**

"Mother…at least let me excuse myself," she protested weakly, cringing at the glare her mother sent her way.

"**Fine, if you must,"** Day Lily said, giving a delicate sigh.

Nightshade wrapped her arms around Ratchet's waist, silently begging him for forgiveness.

"I'll see you later, Nightshade. I love you," he whispered quietly, kissing the top of her head. He ignored the angry noise from Crosswise and held Nightshade close to his chest. Her spark sang at the close contact, wanting much more than brushing up against him. He gave her an amused smile as he felt exactly what she wanted from him through their bond. Crosswise noticed their silent interaction and his optics narrowed just a hair further.

"Right…I love you too," she mumbled quietly, resting her cheek plates on his chest plates. Crosswise made a loud noise, fed up with the fact that Ratchet's paws were all over his precious little daughter.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but my mate and my _daughter,_ and I must have a talk," Crosswise said frostily. Nightshade reluctantly let go of her mate, giving him a sad look. Day Lily grabbed Nightshade's arm and tugged her along, alternating between scolding her and scolding Crosswise for causing such a scene.

Ratchet heaved a great sigh before turning to the group standing a few dozen meters away.

"What?"

"Well…that was…uhm…interesting," Sigma said, his optics glittering with mirth. He had known that Crosswise and Daylily had had a child, but he hadn't known any specifics. Crosswise was an extremely protective mech…and his only child was a rare femme, which gave him all the more reason to be murderous to any male that looked at her.

"So…are we going to retrieve the little ones," Optimus said, hurriedly changing the topic to save Ratchet the embarrassment. The mech's optics brightened further, a smile crossing his face.

"Of course. They are all still in recharge. It's been a long trip. How many mechs and femmes are out here? We have twenty two younglings…I warn you now, they are a handful, so don't wake them up," Sigma said, hurrying into the ship. Optimus and the robotic half of the congregation followed, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the very spacious and obviously very expensive ship. Sigma reached a door panel and typed in the code quickly. The door hissed back.

Okay, so maybe the younglings _weren't_ in recharge. They were currently streaking around the room, screaming and laughing and throwing toys and holo-cubes, making a giant mess of the once pristine nursery. Two sparklings were settled on top of a toy storage unit, throwing their building blocks down at any sparkling stupid enough to come within throwing range. A group of twelve or so little ones were running around, screaming and playing a game similar to tag. There was one femme climbing a book case, trying to get to the energon sweet jar. Sigma's jaw dropped and his optics widened. They were never this badly behaved. Sigma cleared his throat and planted his fists on his hips. The younglings froze in their tracks, sheepish at having been caught in their actions.

"**I thought you lot were supposed to be in recharge**," he mock-growled, grinning down at the younglings.

"**We was, but we want to pway**," one bold little femme said, from her perch atop the shelving unit. Her hands and face plates were covered in the sweetened energon, the evidence of her successful climb. Sigma stared up at her. So _that_ was where all the treats had gone.

"**Get down from there, little one. We've arrived at the base and you've made a bad impression. I might just leave you locked in here until you learn to behave**," he said teasingly and gently, his face impassive and serious. He turned from the door, pretending to shut it.

"**NO nononono!"** The screams of protest from the little ones were deafening. They immediately began to cry, begging not to be locked in the room any longer, they'd behave, they promised. Sigma shook his head – he was getting too old for this.

"**I was only playing. Now get in line, follow me, and **_**behave**_**. Optimus has a dark and scary jail cell and I'll lock the naughty ones in there," **Sigma said, pointing at the ground by his feet. Optimus snickered quietly, watching as the younglings fell into line immediately. The last youngling was probably the most adorable one in the room. She had her tiny hand in her mouth and her golden optics were wide in excitement and apprehension. Behind her she dragged a stuffed creature, something they had probably seen on their travels.

The little one paused as she passed by Optimus, craning her head up to look at the towering mech. She took her hand out of her mouth, dropping it to her side.

"**Are you Op-miss Pwime?" **At the youngling's words, Optimus felt his spark melt in its casing. This little creation was simply too adorable. He knelt beside the little one.

"**Why, yes I am. And you are?"**

"**I'm Starlight**," the little femme said. Optimus chuckled quietly before standing up. Starlight put her hands in the air, her optics wide. Optimus felt his fuel pump falter at the sight of the tiny grey-and-ice blue femme standing there, almost begging for attention.

"**Alright, I'll carry you, little one,"** Optimus said, gently hefting the youngling into his arm and against his chest. She squealed happily and cuddled her stuffed toy close. Optimus began walking and Starlight began to chirp and click in earnest, taking in all the wonderful things outside of the ship.

"**What that?**" The youngling's optics were wide in astonishment and apprehension, and perhaps even fright.

"**That, my dear, is called a human,**" Optimus explained. The little femme nodded, sticking her hand back into her mouth. She shyly buried her face into his neck when the other mechs and femmes noticed Optimus carrying a sparkling. Elita almost melted at the sight of her mate, elation radiating from her spark. Chromia squealed happily, giving Ironhide a pointed look. Ironhide pretended not to notice and instead chatted with Sigma.

00000

"**Mother! Where are we going! Let go of me**," Nightshade hissed, yanking her arm from her femme-creator's death grip. Day Lily whirled around, her optics narrowed. Nightshade then gulped quietly. She had almost forgotten just how short of a temper her femme-creator had. Perhaps it would be best if she kept quiet.

"**You, young lady, are in trouble. Crosswise, go back to the ship while I have a chat with your daughter,"** Day Lily said sweetly, smiling up at her mate. Crosswise frowned slightly.

"**My daughter? She inherited your temper and compulsiveness – I…I'll just shut up now,**" Crosswise then scurried away from the seething femme. He loved his mate dearly but sometimes she was a bit too much for him to handle. This was one of those moments when he knew to keep his vocalizers off. Day Lily waited until her mate was well out of hearing range before she turned to Nightshade. Nightshade cringed slightly. These were her last few moments as a happily bonded femme, she knew it. Why hadn't she told Ratchet about the fact that she thought-

"**Nightshade, I just want you to know that I approve of him. I used to know his creators. They are…were wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I-I…I miss them dearly,**" Day Lily said quietly, folding her hands in front of her. Nightshade peered from between her fingers. In a futile attempt to lengthen her time alive, she had covered her optics…not that it would have done much good against the femme, but it was still worth the effort.

"**You've grown up too quickly, my dear. I remember when you were nothing but a bundle of wires…"** There was a soft sigh from the reminiscing femme. Day Lily shook her head gently to shake the ghosts of the past from her computing center. Nightshade wrapped her arms around her femme-creator, silently thanking her for her approval of Ratchet…now all she had to do was get her father to approve of him and they'd be fine.

"**So, Nightshade…when are you going to have a sparkling? Are you two trying?"**

Day Lily ignored the fact that Nightshade froze and continued prattling on about nurseries and potential names. Day Lily was broken from her rambling by a soft sound. Nightshade was wordlessly sobbing into her hands, her shoulders rocking gently. Her optics went wide and Day Lily immediately tried to soothe her.

"**Darling, what's the matter? Why are you so upset? Sit down – talk to me. What's got you on the fritz, my little Nightshade?"**

"**I-I can't…"**

"**You can't what, darling?"**

"**I-I **_**can't.**_

"**I don't understand, Nightshade. Please, tell me what's the matter."**

"**I-I can't…conceive...I was injured..."** Her voice had faded to nothing more than a whisper, the anguish pouring from her words. Day Lily gasped quietly before hugging her daughter close. Nightshade began pouring her story out to Day Lily, beginning at the very beginning when she'd been delivered to Ratchet as nothing more than an eager rookie (leaving out the fact that she had been disguised as a male). She hadn't even known that she was destined to become Ratchet's mate, she only knew that strange fluttering feeling in her chest. Her mother nodded, understanding the uncertainty that usually accompanied finding one's spark-mate.

"**But what happened, Nightshade?"**

"**Elita, Chromia, and I were kidnapped. There was a mech…his name was Starscream…he…broke our bond…Ratchet arrived in time to keep him from forcing me to bond with him…"**

Nightshade shuddered quietly, Day Lily's soft and understanding look encouraging her to continue on with her story.

"**I…I managed to initiate a system shut down if he touched my spark…Chromia tried to hack into my systems before my carrying files were deleted but…I don't think she made it in time. We think they've been corrupted. And Ratchet and I have decided not to even try."**

Day Lily only held her daughter close to her and cried along with her.

00000

AllSpark watched the reunited family unit with a small smile on his face. He had earned his father's forgiveness. Before he left, he was going to fix some of the things he had broken. Hacking into the computers, he fixed faulty scanners and optimized camera usage. The mech known as Red Alert would now be able to spend more time with his mate. AllSpark continued wandering through the files, contemplating. He was going to miss this lot. Sure, he'd put them through Pit and back, but it was nothing that he couldn't fix. AllSpark then realized that he had broken an important rule: _do not get attached to your appointees_. He smiled. These few were worth it and he felt a need to make up to them what he had done to them.

He then began to gently scan their minds, interested in what was happening. He paused before giving Mirage a quick boost of courage. The poor mech was in dire need of it. Prime and Elita were trying for a little one? It would have been nice if he could have increased her fertility, but he could not interfere with their natural processes. First, he _couldn't_. He didn't have that kind of power. Secondly, his father would have his head on a platter. It was not his place to decide whether new life was created. He could only increase the probability that they would mate. With that mischievous thought, he began channeling extra energy to Elita's reproductive files, sending them into a flaring frenzy. Poor Optimus would have his hands full for the next few days. AllSpark began to wander around their group, smiling at the obvious joy that engulfed them. Fixing their broken things was well worth it.

With a heavy (but happy) sigh, AllSpark withdrew quietly. Before he left for good, AllSpark rebuilt the remains of his corporeal body. No one would ever know that he was a sentient being. He smiled as the planet began to recede slowly. He had dutifully completed his tasks…now he could rest…

00000

Yeah, yeah, I know I promised no more sadness, but I couldn't help it. Besides, she gets her family back. What more could she ask for? Just in case you didn't know, we found out that Crosswise and Day Lily were Night's creators in like, chapter one. :O I based Day Lily off of my mother…she's terrifying. She could make Megatron cry like a baby.

(headdesk)

These chapters keep getting longer and longer…


	27. In Which There is Scorponok

Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue me.

A GIANT thank you goes to Silveriss for explaining the true meaning of caste to me and pointing out some great points. Also, many cookies for her for spawning a multitude of plot bunnies. :)

Did no one catch the subtle hint in the last chapter? Darn. Well. Don't go look for it now :P

This chapter made me crack up, so you know it's fun. ;D And I know it's silly, but I promise it leads to something very, very important. I promise.

00000

Nightshade winced at the sudden shrill whistle that invaded the once quiet med bay. She peeked under a table, searching for the source.

"What the frag is that?"

"I haven't got the faintest idea, Nightshade. Are you going to go and see what it is?"

"Yes, I am. I'll be back in a minute."

She wandered out into the hallway. The whistling noise grew louder and higher in pitch. Ratchet peered after her curiously, his head cocked in confusion. Was it a new alarm of some kind? Nightshade peered into the rec room. Prowl was standing at the energon dispenser, grabbing something to drink.

"Prowl? What is that noise?"

"I don't know, Nightshade. It sounds like one of Wheeljack's experiments gone wrong," he said, shrugging his shoulders. As the noise grew more and more high pitched, his doorwings crept higher and higher on his back.

"Hmm…but if it were his, the smoke detectors would be going off and we'd be in lock down," Nightshade said, looking around the room once more. Barricade and Blaster were currently making use of their cable, watching a documentary. They were ignoring the noise.

"That would be true, Nightshade. I wouldn't worry about it. Red Alert has probably found out what it is already. You know how much he hates loud noises," he said, topping off his cube. Then Prowl went over to the couch and clucked unhappily.

"You two should be doing your work instead of procrastinating," he said, giving the two mechs an evil glare. Barricade twisted his neck servos until he was looking up at Prowl.

"We're on break, Prowlie."

"Don't call me that."

"Sure thing…Prowler," Blaster said, his face straight and calm. However, his glittering optics betrayed him. Prowl's own optics narrowed.

Nightshade left the rec room before Prowl dished out punishment. The hallway was long and empty. Maybe it was coming from one of the offices? She opened one of the spare offices and peered inside. Nope, the noise wasn't there. Her head snapped up, tracking the noise. It was getting closer and louder.

Then she heard the muffled shrieks. The younglings! Nightshade felt her fuel tank disappear. Her fuel pump started to pound, surging fuel into her battle-ready limbs. Were they alright? Had they been harmed? No harm would befall them, not on her shift! Nightshade pulled a small dagger from her wrist compartment, ready to fight to the death to protect the little ones –

A heavy weight slammed into her chest and the whistling rose to an almost deafening level. Nightshade shrieked and scrabbled at whatever had latched onto her chest, screaming for help. The whistling suddenly stopped, punctuated with a few chirps and a whirr. Nightshade looked down, peeking between her fingers. Oh. Alright, so maybe she wasn't being deactivated by a gigantic, metallic leech...and that was exactly why she was not watching any more human movies with Mikaela and Maggie on girl's night out.

Scorponok had wrapped his legs around her chest, resting his little head on her collar armor. She gaped at the scorpion. He let out a soft chirp. Why was she so confused? Did she not know of the terrors that had been chasing him?

The giggling grew louder and Scorponok froze, his tiny red optics going wide in terror. The first sparkling peered around the corner, a large stuffed toy in its hand. It squealed upon seeing Nightshade and Scorponok. He began twittering happily, running on unsteady legs toward the femme. Scorponok hissed loudly, his grip around Nightshade tightening. The scorpion then managed to scramble onto her shoulders, his long tail held high in irritation. Nightshade yelped in pain and slapped at Scorponok. He managed to evade her whirling limbs and latch himself firmly onto her back, his head resting on her shoulder.

"Up! Up, Night," the sparkling called out, dropping his toy and walking over to the femme. Nightshade growled quietly as Scorponok's little legs began to dig into her armor. Scorponok began chirping, warning her of the impending doom. Why was she holding the creature? Why did she care for it? Did she not know of the indignities he had suffered at their grubby paws?! Scorponok shuddered, remembering the large pink bow that one of the little femmes had tied around his neck while he had been in recharge. It was three hours later before he had noticed the pink banner. His dignity had been crushed. He may have been a symbiote, but he still had feelings! He was not a pet! He was a _partner,_ not some toy for them to play with!

"Scorponok! Be nice!" She received a shrill whistle from the annoyed scorpion. Nightshade bent down and picked the youngling up, nestling him into the crook of her arm. A group of ten more younglings appeared from around the corner, their amber optics bright with mischief. Scorponok hissed again and sent the youngling in Nightshade's arms a glare that Megatron would have been proud of. The youngling giggled and clapped his hands, somehow managing to mistake Scorponok's anger for happiness.

"Alright you lot, let's go back to the nursery," Nightshade said grumpily, ignoring Scorponok's second angry hiss. She turned stiffly, grumbling at the scorpion on her shoulders.

The gaggle of younglings followed her to the nursery quietly, their vocalizers wisely shut off. Nightshade was their favorite caretaker – she let them stay up a few extra breems, they got extra candied energon, and she was so warm and cuddly – but she had a temper that frightened even Chromia, the temporary aide.

Nightshade shook her head. What kinds of mischief had this lot been up to? They loved playing with Ironhide. Even though he was a gun-slinging, foul-mouthed old fragger, he still couldn't help but to melt over the little ones. He grudgingly acquiesced to help Chromia in the nursery for a few breems while she bathed the dirtier ones…except he had made the mistake of falling asleep in the nursery. Ironhide, while in deep recharge, could not be roused easily. It had become a game for the sparklings to see who could climb on the weapons specialist and not get caught doing so. So far the record was held by a tiny red mech, who had managed to get all the way up to his chest plates before the mountain made of metal shifted. The startled youngling shrieked and slipped from his perch on Ironhide's chest. Thankfully, Ironhide caught the little bundle of metal before it hit the ground. The little mech then started laughing and clapping, screaming for more. Ironhide never again visited the nursery, but somehow, just _somehow,_ they would manage to find him whenever he'd fall asleep on his shift. Ironhide had a sinking suspicion that Ratchet had a hand in this, but he never could prove anything.

Or perhaps they were still following Optimus around? The little bots had something of a fan-like adoration of the mech. Optimus was the subject of their bedtime stories. Stories of how he could take on trines of seekers on by himself and still manage to save a sparkling from the evil clutches of the Decepticons filled their tiny computing centers. All the tiny mechs wanted to be like him and all of the little femmes had something of a fangirl adoration for him.

This being said, Primus only knew how they had managed to get into his office last week. The doors had been locked, too. Thankfully, Elita was not in the room, else Ratchet would have had to schedule a spark-merge education class a whole lot earlier than anyone else had hoped. Optimus had been sitting down, doing paperwork, when he suddenly got the feeling of being watched. There were at least twelve younglings in the room, hidden poorly in various areas. The poor mech had to call Elita for back up once the younglings found out that Optimus was a pushover. He couldn't say no to the little ones because they would start crying. Optimus, while being one of the fiercest warriors Cybertron had ever seen, could not stand it when a little one cried. As a result, he was entirely at their mercy for the fifteen minutes it took Elita to decipher the message.

Nightshade shook her head and pushed open the nursery doors.

"In your berths before I decide that you won't be getting any more candy," she said, glaring down at the ringleader of the group. The innocent gaze she received did not deceive her.

"Don't give me that routine again, Rose. To your berth, now." The pink femme's lower lip components trembled and Nightshade felt her resolve weaken. Big watery amber optics finished destroying her resolve. Nightshade sighed heavily and picked Rose up, clicking comfortingly. The pink femme giggled quietly as she was set into her berth, covered with a thick, plush blanket, and given a stuffed toy to cuddle.

Nightshade smiled down at her before turning to the rest of the group. Great. Now they wanted to be tucked in for their afternoon nap. The doors opened and in came the big set of twins. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both wore sheepish grins on their faces, the rest of the little ones gathered around their legs. Nightshade gave them the most evil glare she could.

"Sorry, Nightshade. They took off when they saw that Scorponok was in the rec-room."

"And why were they in the rec room? You _know _they aren't allowed in there!"

"We stopped to get some energon!"

"Anyway, we thought we'd drop the rest of the little ones off before Red Alert goes on the fritz and chews our afts out."

"_Sunstreaker_."

"Bro, you're gonna get us killed!"

"Sorry again, Nightshade! We will come and pick them up in a half-joor, see you later, bye!"

With that, they disappeared outside. Nightshade shook her head sourly. More work for her… Nightshade pasted a bright smile on her face as she turned to the little ones.

"Alright, who wants a story?"

She smiled at the squeals of joy. Maybe this job wasn't too bad…

00000

It took a little over fifteen minutes for Nightshade to tuck each sparkling in and read a story to them. It also took a little over fifteen minutes for Nightshade to realize that one of the sparklings was unaccounted for. Nightshade fought down her rising panic as she recounted the tiny beings. There were only twenty one sparklings in the room. Starlight was missing. Nightshade immediately ran around the room, checking under the recharge berths and in boxes. Scorponok waited patiently by the doorway, clicking softly. Nightshade was out of the room faster than he could react. He made it to the door just as it shut.

Scorponok let out a shrill whistle, a cry for help before he tried to reach for the door release button. After a few minutes of straining his tiny hydraulics, Scorponok still couldn't reach it. He scrabbled underneath a recharge berth, hoping that the little demons would not find him…

00000

"ELITA!" Elita was startled from her work by Nightshade's frantic voice. She looked up from the massive pile of datapads on her desk. A blur of dark blue metal burst into her office and at her. Nightshade did not see the box in her way until she had tripped over it. Elita and her chair landed on the floor with a resounding crash. Paperwork fluttered down on them like rain. Nightshade was sitting on her abdomen, bawling her optics out.

"What is it, Nightshade? Are you alright?"

Elita suddenly found herself being dragged behind a babbling Nightshade. She was rambling, alternating between spouting death threats, crying, and talking about something being gone.

"Nightshade, try to be coherent."

"Starlight is missing! She wasn't with the rest of the little ones! I can't find her! Oh, Primus, what if she's lost? What if she got outside? What if she-"

"Calm down, Nightshade! She's probably recharging somewhere-"

"Oh, Primus, what if she's hurt? What if she fell down the stairs? What if she's been taken? It's all my fault-"

"Calm your processes, femme!"

Nightshade was startled out of her rambling by Elita's bellow. She hiccupped quietly before speaking.

"What?"

"It isn't your fault, Nightshade! They were supposed to be in the learning center with…I'm going to _kill_ Jazz. He was supposed to be watching them!"

"But Jazz just got off shift! Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were supposed to be escorting them to the cafeteria…oh those two fraggers are going to _die._"

Elita and Nightshade both growled quietly as Red Alert rounded the corner, the twins in tow. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both gulped quietly at the lethal glares that both femmes sent their way.

"Ah, ladies. How pleasant to see you," Red Alert said cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the pain that awaited the twins. However, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were astutely aware of the impending anarchy and cowered slightly. What had they done this time?

"Hello, Red Alert. Do you mind if I borrow these two for just a breem? We need to have a chat."

"Of course, go ahead. We were only taking a break."

"Oh, and Red? Please alert the rest of the staff that one of the younglings has escaped from the twins," Elita said, wincing as Nightshade started screaming at the two.

00000

The message was short and simply worded: _A youngling named Starlight has gone missing._ Those few words caused absolute panic to reign through the base. Nightshade was currently barking out orders to the lost and confused mechs and femmes and organizing search groups.

"You – Inferno, Barricade, Longarm, and Jazz – go search the brig and surrounding areas. Wave Breaker, Leo, Beta, Chromia and Arcee – your group is responsible for the boiler room and storage units on that floor. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, you two go search the roof. Where the slag is Jetfire?!"

"I'm here, I'm here. Don't get your shell in a knot-"

He was silenced by the growl that emanated from the tiny femme.

"You and your men go look outside. Search thoroughly. Bumblebee! Get over here! Take the minibots up on the upper level! Ratchet, go search the med bay. Wheel jack, you and Firestar are responsible for your lab – slaggit, Ironhide! Get your aft in motion, _now_!"

Elita watched on in amusement as they scrambled to follow her orders. Maybe the femme should be bumped up in rank. She was giving orders like a first class sergeant…and it would be nice to have some of her work load taken off of her shoulders. Coming to a conclusion that involved giving Nightshade a promotion, she squared herself and approached the femme. Before she could say a word, Nightshade had given already given her the orders.

"Elita, you're responsible for your office. Yours too, Prime! Frag it all to pit, Wheelie! Move it! The rest of you spread out and keep in contact with the three of us."

"Nigtshade's optic keeps on twitching, in her fury she keeps on bit-"

"Wheelie, finish that and I will personally dismantle you by hand," Nightshade snarled, turning a furious optic over at the minibot. He and his group disappeared quickly into one of the storage rooms. Nightshade went back to the nursery to check on the little ones. They were still recharging, happily unaware of the panic that had set into the base. Scorponok appeared from under the berth and made a dash for freedom. He had almost made it when he was detained by a pair of light blue hands. Scorponok whistled shrilly, he could _taste_ freedom! He let out a dejected little whine, turning an optic up at his captor. Amused, Nightshade appraised the scorpion for a moment before raising him up to optic level.

"Scorpy? I need you to do me a favor."

He chirped happily. He'd do anything for Nightshade. She was his favorite femme, she always gave him what was left of her energon, she cuddled him, and she never raised her voice toward him, and she most certainly never tried to kick him like Ironhide (then again, it _was_ his fault that Ironhide had tripped and fallen down that staircase) -

"I need you to help me look for the missing youngling."

Scorponok hissed angrily, batting at her hands with his claws. There was no way that he would look for that pit-spawned pile of bolts for her! What, was the femme crazy? Did she not know how much he had suffered at their hands –

"Scorpy, _please_…"

Scorponok stopped struggling. Nightshade's optics were brimming over with tears and he whined softly before chirping softly. Nightshade hugged him tightly, ignoring his squeal. Scorponok chirped again and Nightshade set him down.

"Thank you, Scorponok. You're the last one to have seen her. Please hurry. I'll be on this floor if you need me."

Scorponok saluted her with one claw and disappeared down the hallway, chattering softly. Nightshade then entered the playroom beside the nursery, searching high and low for the little femme. He had a bad feeling about this. Something was going to happen to him, he knew it.

00000

Meanwhile, Starlight was happily recharging underneath a desk, wedged between the wall and a box. She chirped softly in her sleep, curling up more tightly. The doors opened of their own accord. One optic opened. Who was that? Were they here to play, too? They couldn't! This was _her_ hiding spot.

"Starlight? Where are you, little one?"

Starlight stirred and peeked out from behind the box. It was Sunny! She liked him; he was so shiny and warm. He was one of her favorite caretakers. He always let her curl up against his chest plates and recharge, but he wouldn't admit it to anyone else. They also played a game where he would toss her up into the air and catch her, but only when Nightshade wasn't around, because she would get _mad_. It was so much fun! She loved playing games, but wait -

Sunstreaker was looking for her. Were they playing hide-and-seek? Starlight almost giggled but she clapped a hand over her mouth. She was supposed to be quiet for this! Starlight curled up into a tiny ball and hid behind the box. Sunstreaker passed right by her hiding spot and peered under the desk. Starlight held her breath – had he found her? No. Sunstreaker moved on, calling her name softly. Starlight smiled. She was very good at this game. Last time they had played this game, it took Crosswise and Sigma almost a joor to find her…and that was only because she had been hiding behind a storage bin.

Starlight's tiny engines revved quietly and her optics began to dim. Naptime…

00000

Crosswise and Day Lily were frantic. This wasn't the first time that Starlight had disappeared on them. She had done it quite a few times before while they had been on the ship. It had taken _joors_ to find the tiny femme on that enclosed space. Now they were on a massive base full of tiny nooks and crannies, perfect for a sparkling to hide in. Starlight loved to play hide-and-seek. It would be nearly impossible to find her if she thought it was a game.

"Nightshade, darling, you must tell them to not act like it's a game. She is impossible to find otherwise," Day Lily said gently, peering into a dusty box. Nightshade nodded and relayed the message to the heads of each search party. Day Lily then began to poke around the room, sighing heavily.

"What's the matter, mother?"

"It is a waste of time to look for her. She will come out when she is hungry," Day Lily said, shrugging.

"Mother, what if she's stuck somewhere? What if she is hurt-"

"Then you will hear her crying. She has a very loud vocal processor…she's shorted Crosswise's audio receptors a few times."

"But what if she fell and now she can't move, or speak, or send out a message-"

"She'll be fine, Nightshade. Calm yourself. She thinks we're playing a game."

00000

Scorponok peered up at the bright green button. It winked softly in the darkness. He reached up as far as he could but still couldn't reach the blasted button. Scorponok eyed a nearby, empty energon cube. Almost as though by instinct, he slung it at the button and nailed it. Scorponok chirped happily – he _had_ learned something useful from Ratchet! The button flashed white and beeped quietly. Then the doors hissed open, revealing a pitch-black room beyond. He scuttled into the room and peered around, flipping his thermal scanners on. Ah. There was a bright reddish orange blob on an inky black background. The youngling was hidden behind a box.

Starlight peered from behind the box, squealing happily as her favorite playmate came closer.

"Scorpy! Scorpy!"

A series of annoyed clicks and chirps came from the small symbiote. He chattered softly and the femme nodded, her optics wide in worry. She came out from behind the box. Then she sat down in front of Scorponok, her tiny hand in her mouth.

"They look for me?"

Starlight chattered back at him, her lower lips components trembling. Alas, the symbiote was not properly prepared to fend off the look and he caved into the adorable femme, chirping grumpily. He settled onto his stomach so that the little femme could scramble onto his back. Starlight squealed happily. With a boost from one of Scorpnok's legs, Starlight managed to scramble onto the symbiote's back. He stood back up, ignoring the high pitched squeak from the femme. She started pounding her tiny hands on his back.

"Go, Scorpy! Go!"

Scorponok hissed quietly. If any of the other symbiotes saw him like this, he would be the laughingstock of the entire base. Scorponok found an old datapad and threw it against the pad. The door opened and he scuttled out quickly, searching for Nightshade before Starlight decided she was bored and disappeared once more.

00000

Nightshade was startled from her search by a quiet chirp. She whirled around. Had Scorponok found the little femme? Scorponok was standing in the middle of the room with Starlight curled up on his back. The tiny femme was recharging away. Nightshade let out a shaky sigh of relief and picked up Starlight. The femme wriggled a bit but didn't move. Nightshade then scooped Scorponok into her other arm, thanking him over and over. She made her way back to the entrance, the temporary home base of the search parties. Day Lily cried out in relief as she saw the femme approaching with a creature in one arm and the youngling in the other.

Day Lily took the youngling from her daughter, fretting over the little one. Ratchet then immediately snatched Starlight from Day Lily, ignoring the femme's protests. Ratchet then began running scans and visually examining the sparkling. Even though he was considered grouchy and mean, he wasn't emotionless. In fact, when he had received Nightshade's panicked transmission, his spark had all but frozen in its box. Starlight began clicking unhappily. Why had he woken her up? His spark was so familiar! Did he know Nightshade? Ratchet then scanned her once more before holding the youngling close to his chest. This action did not go unnoticed by any of the femmes, especially when Starlight immediately calmed and clicked happily.

"Thank you, Scorponok, thank you so much, you're such a sweetie-"

Nightshade began planting little kisses onto the creature's head, ignoring his pitiful whine and feeble attempts at escaping. Rumble and Frenzy both pointed up at him and started to laugh. Nightshade placed a few more kisses onto Scorponok's head, cuddling him close to her chassis. Optimus let out a low, rumbling laugh and spoke.

"Nightshade, I think Ratchet's getting jealous."

Ratchet spluttered.

"I am _not_!"

He wasn't jealous of Scorponok! Except…why did Scorponok get so many kisses? He never got kisses like that. Ratchet frowned slightly, lost in his thoughts. Forgetting that he had an audience, his lower lip starting to slide into a Grade A pout. Alright, so maybe he was just a tiny bit jealous.

Nightshade placed on last kiss onto Scorponok's head before setting him down. Scorponok's tiny feet were scrabbling for hold before they even touched the ground. He hissed angrily and wiped at his head with his claws. Rumble began laughing again. Now that Scorponok was on the ground, he could commence the kicking of Rumble's aft. His tail moved so quickly that no one really saw it move, sending the tiny mech onto his bottom. Frenzy took off, chattering loudly.

"Ev-ev-every s-s-symbio-o-ote for him-himeslf!" Frenzy cackled and leapt into Barricade's arms, putting himself well out of reach of the enraged scorpion. With no one else to attack, Scorponok turned his beady gaze onto the prone form of Rumble. He began to circle the whimpering symbiote, snarling.

"TRAITOR!" Rumble screeched as Scorponok pounced again, his blunt tail jabbing him in the chest plate.

Nightshade watched in amusement as Scorponok angrily chased Rumble down the hallway. They were pretty sure that Scorponok's whistles and clicks roughly translated into expletives. Ahh. The joys of living on a base.

Things never, ever got boring around here.

00000

:D

I made this chapter Scorpy-centric because he's not getting enough love. :) And I think he's OOC, but …he didn't do anything in the movie but stalk Lennox and his gang. And I think he's a cutie pie. :)


	28. In Which There is Mind Frag

Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form. However, I do own Nightshade. :D

Warning: Mind-frag.

You know the term "When it rains, it pours"? Yeah, getting sick is just like that. Haven't been sick in _years_ and BAM. I've got pneumonia, the flu, and strep, all in one go. Since I'm not allowed out of the house until Sunday, I figured I'd finish this chapter. Blame the flu for the content of this chapter. :D

00000

Ever since the scare with Starlight, Nightshade had not been able to keep still. Her recharge cycle would not last more than two or three hours at a time. She would check the nursery almost every other cycle, just to make sure that the sparklings were still safe. Ratchet, being the ever caring mate, scanned her within an inch of her life, worried out of his processes. Nightshade had been presenting some strange signs and symptoms, nothing he had ever seen before. Moon Racer thought that Nightshade was just being paranoid. Red Alert blamed it on lack of recharge. Elita and Chromia guessed that the femme was just under-energized and unhappy with the current situation. Poor Ratchet didn't know what was going on. He did his best to find out what, but could come to no solid conclusion. As soon as he thought he had figured it out, she would fritz out and present different signs, and the process would start all over again.

This week, her shift was assigned to work in the med bay, utilizing her training in medicine. Epsilon, the little green and white femme, was in charge of the med bay for the next two orns. Nightshade and Ratchet worked together in the med bay, helping one another with repairs and in handling the torture of the newest batch of rookies, or "fresh energon", as Ratchet called them. The latter was Nightshade's favorite source of entertainment. Nightshade specialized in adapting firewalls and fixing circuits while Ratchet specialized in pretty much everything else that needed to be repaired.

Wheeljack was the one who rebuilt missing parts…not that they had had too many of those cases. He had his own lab (which was conveniently located just down the hall), built specifically for his needs (the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of ten feet of solid, reinforced concrete and plated with six inches of tempered steel). There were two windows: eight feet by two feet of another six inches of bullet and shrapnel proof glass. The mech even had his own ventilation system, just in case there was a breach of some sort. The door was solid, reinforced steel.

Nightshade and Ratchet were just about to finish their shift when -

- a loud **BOOM **rocked the base, sending Nightshade flying headlong into a wooden cabinet. Ratchet fared no better. He had been on the staircase, headed down from the recovery rooms, when the explosion happened. His face became very familiar with the floor. Ratchet picked himself up off of the floor, helped Nightshade out of the cabinet, and took off toward his friend, his spark twisting in its casing. The solid, reinforced steel door was now bulging out of its frame…which was _not_ a good sign.

"Frag it all to Pit, I'm going to kill him!" Ratchet growled, trying to peer through the windows. The acrid bluish smoke was too thick for his optics to pierce through. He could barely see the shower of sparks that rained down from the ceiling. Bright orange embers burned brightly before being extinguished. The security systems had failed to deploy. Now they had to worry about the risk of fire. Great.

Ratchet swore loudly and waved the others away, slamming his fist on one of the emergency buttons on the wall. Immediately, the room was vented, revealing the scorched remains of the lab. He peeked through one of the windows, his optics darting around desperately. Wheeljack was nowhere to be seen. Ratchet sawed the door open, the entire thing having melted and fused to the door frame itself. He darted in, sealing his ventilation systems and bringing his face mask down. No Wheeljack. Red Alert and two other bots came in, searching for the wayward inventor. Prowl entered shortly, his door wings held high in irritation. A scowl was etched into his normally neutral face.

No luck.

"Guys, what's going on? Hey now, who blew my lab up?! That's _my _job – "

"WHEELJACK!"

The inventor was standing in the door way, looking over what remained of his lab. He had been on break when he heard the explosion. Prime had almost bellowed Wheeljack's name, but upon seeing the inventor sitting in a booth, had decided not to. Prime then slugged back two more barrels of high grade and added the repairs to the lab to his ever growing list of things to do. With at least a dozen colonists due in the next year, Prime had to finish the civilian half of the base soon, or else everyone would be bunking with someone else.

"What happened in here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Prowl hissed, stamping on a flaming datapad and picking his way through the carnage. Remains of paper blueprints fluttered down from the ceiling. Exposed wires sparked and twitched, buzzing quietly. There was something that vaguely resembled a filing cabinet in one corner and what was once a computer on a desk. Carbon based materials were now roasted to extremely well done, charred remnants of what once was. Not a thing escaped the blast unscathed, not even the lovely fichus tree Nightshade had bought as a gift a few weeks back. Prowl reached over and put a flaming spool of wire out.

"Oh, would you look at that! What explosive results, eh?" Wheeljack said, prodding what remained of an energon cube.

Ratchet's optic twitched at the horrendous pun. He'd been terrified out of his processor for his friend…and said friend was standing in the middle of what looked like a war zone, sipping a cube of energon, looking like nothing had happened. There was a sound like a jet engine revving for take off, then sudden silence. A ceiling panel exploded outwards, sending a shower of electrical discharge down onto the occupants of the room. Ratchet hissed in pain and brushed the plasma from his frame, glaring even more intensely at Wheeljack. The mech shrugged and went outside, cutting the main electrical lines to the lab. The lights flickered out, replaced by soft red light from the emergency back up generators.

"What?" Wheeljack looked mildly offended at the looks he was receiving. It wasn't his fault the lab blew up (this time, at least)! Ratchet growled in annoyance before pinching the bridge of his nasal plate. He counted to ten and back slowly before speaking.

"Explain how this happened."

"You remember how we never finished patching up those wires in the wall? They were somehow dislodged…and they landed near one of the energon test beakers. The energon provided a negatively charged source for the electrons to move to…and then BOOM," Wheeljack said absently, prying apart the singed wires. He gave up and dropped the fizzling bundle onto the table, where another sheet of paper promptly burst into flame. Prowl let out a soft, almost inaudible growl before using a data-pad to put the flames out.

"Energon wouldn't cause _that_ big of an explosion," Ratchet said, thrusting his arms to the side. How did Wheeljack manage to explode something as innocuous as energon? Sure, it may have had a tiny bit of radiation emission, but it still wouldn't explode with a mild electrical current.

"No, it wouldn't. But I added a few extra things…a cup of nitroglycerin, a couple of PETN crystals…just a few basic things," the inventor said, rattling off the ingredients. He was mildly affronted by Ratchet's reaction, which included a solid whack to the side of the head and much berating.

"What did I do wrong?"

"You're lucky we weren't all killed! You aft-headed glitching son of a fraggin' doll…If the door hadn't been shut it could have caused a chain reaction! Primus!"

Ratchet was muttering away, his optics dark as he took in the extensive damages to the lab. And he'd be the one to have to rebuild it. Prime was not going to be happy – he had way too much on his plate at the time. Ratchet's mind wandered away from the task at hand – maybe he could wrestle some of Prime's duties away from him? He snapped back to reality when Wheeljack pried what was left of a holo-cube off of the wall.

"I was only trying to make the energon a little more efficient," Wheeljack said, shrugging his shoulders slightly, picking the melted plastic from his fingers. Ratchet froze and tensed up, slowly turning to face Wheeljack.

"No, Wheeljack. Your access to volatile chemicals has been restricted. You know how close you are to the nursery? You could have injured or _killed_ a roomful of innocent younglings," Ratchet hissed quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. Wheeljack had the decency to look sorry – his ear fins flashed a dull, embarrassed red as he tried to speak and apologize.

"Primus, Ratch', if I would have known that this was going to happen…"

Ratchet merely walked out on his friend. Wheeljack winced. He would have preferred being shouted at by his long time friend, or having something thrown at him, but not being ignored. He sighed heavily and began picking through the remains of his lab. At least the core projects and most important documents had been safely stored in a second room. Guilt surged through his systems as he realized just how close to the nursery he was…the oxygen in the air would have combusted…and if the nursery door had been open… Here Wheeljack shuddered, shaking away the sudden images. He did _not_ want to think of the younglings being harmed. It wasn't even technically his fault – if anyone was to blame, it was the engineers that had built the room.

Firestar gingerly made her way through the room, laying a black hand on Wheeljack's shoulder. He started at the sudden contact, but soon relaxed at her touch. She clucked softly, taking in the mess.

"It'll be alright, Jack," she said soothingly. She wondered vaguely if the same principle of the explosion could be applied to a weapon of some sort, but decided that now was not the time to ask. Wheeljack looked at her, his optics dark in sorrow.

"No, I don't think it will be…I could have killed those little ones."

"But it isn't even your fault, Jack. I'm on break. I'll help you clean up, how about that?"

Even though he wore a mask, Firestar would have sworn that he was smiling.

"Thank you, Firestar."

"You're welcome, Jack."

00000

Nightshade growled in absolute irritation. Ratchet was severely trying her patience at the moment. With him, it was always her health. _Oh, are you alright, love? You look faint, here, sit down and let me run a scan._ _You're running low on energy, you should get some energon, would you like to go to the med bay?_ She interrupted herself and rubbed at her cranial unit gently, trying to clear the sudden thoughts away. Ratchet entered the room and his optics brightened upon seeing his mate. However, he did not see the thunderous glare she aimed in his general direction. He was too busy talking about some nonsense in the medical bay, an explosion of some sort, and Wheeljack. Her glare intensified and she sighed heavily, dropping her gaze. At her sigh, Ratchet turned, concern etched into his face plates.

"Night, love, are you alright?"

The self control in Nightshade's computing center began to creak dangerously, the fibers fraying…

"You look faint, love. Here, sit down."

…and then it snapped. She froze and glared a hole into the floor by her foot. Ratchet gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his confusion quite evident on his face plates. He could feel the anger emanating from her half of the bond. Concerned, he tried to speak.

"Night? Please answer me, love. Do you want to go to the med-"

"No."

He fell silent at her word. That simple, one syllable word silenced him. Then he knew something was truly wrong with her. She would never speak to anyone in that cold and hateful tone of voice, much less him. Had he done something wrong?

"Night," he asked tentatively.

"Just leave me alone. Please."

"Nightshade, love, you're shaking," he said gently, pulling her into his arms. She did not budge. Her shaking only grew more noticeable. Nightshade desperately tried to reign in her anger. It was as if though something had taken over her body and she was watching everything from afar. Where had this sudden anger come from? Why was she so angry?

"I am fine," her voice was laced with frustration and anger.

"Nightshade, you aren't fine, you look as though you're about to pass out-"

"I'm fine! What part of that do you not get?!"

"Night, I'm only trying to-"

"No, just stop it! Stop it! I don't care! Just _leave me alone_! You always hover over me, I'm not a defenseless sparkling! I don't need to sit down, I don't need to go to the med bay, and I don't need to be scanned! I don't need you!"

Heavy silence met her angry words. Ratchet let go of her and backed away, hurt beyond belief. Nightshade looked up at him, her optics brimming with tears. She choked back a sob and ran from the room. By the time Ratchet got to the door and opened it, she was already gone. He searched all of her regular hiding spots – the library, the back of the med bay, and the nursery. She was nowhere to be found. He thought for a second, turning and making his way to Mirage's room. Maybe Mirage would help him.

00000

Nightshade fled upstairs, past the nursery and past the med bay, past the library and past the occupied offices. Things went by in a blur as she struggled to keep her composure long enough to find an empty room. She came to a halt at the end of the corridor, peeking down the adjoining hallway. She took a left, a vague remembrance of months ago emerging in her computing center. Opening a door and ignoring the puff of dust it sent up, she darted into the stairwell, climbing rapidly. She pushed open the door and stepped out onto the roof, staring up at the roiling clouds. The trees in the distance were swaying, creaking and groaning at the strength of the wind. Everything was grey, grey with the death that came with the winter season.

Sharp, cold air cut through the seams in her armor, making the femme shiver slightly. Winter had descended upon California quickly and suddenly. Nightshade sat on one of the air conditioning units, swinging one leg gently, tapping it against the metal. The wind roared past her audios, the frigid air cutting through her shell. She shivered again and drew her legs up underneath her chin, wiping furiously at her optics.

…_He was only trying to help…What have I done?_

00000

Ratchet gave up on trying to find her, and he knew much better than to try and contact her through their comm. Mirage was no help at all, suggesting the same exact places he had searched mere breems before. A few minutes later, he tried to edge into their bond but he failed, his shoulders slumping in pain and defeat as he realized that she had blocked him out. Now he was seated in a chair in the rec. room, having a staring contest with his half-empty barrel of high grade. Crosswise edged through the room quietly, searching for someone he knew. His optics brightened as they alighted on Ratchet's haggard frame.

"Ratchet, how pleasant to see you," Crosswise said, a smile gracing his face plates. He took a seat in front of the medic, his smile disappearing at the sadness radiating from the mech.

"Crosswise," he said quietly, as a way of greeting.

"What's the matter?"

He sighed heavily, picking up his barrel and swirling the contents. Should he tell Crosswise what was going on? The slick fluid inside the barrel sloshed around, creating a small whirlpool in the bottom. Ratchet watched it as it slowly disappeared. Then he did it again before answering Crosswise.

"Nightshade hasn't been herself for the past few days."

"She's probably only tired," Day Lily piped up, sitting down beside Crosswise. Crosswise stared at her. Where had she come from? He ignored the thought and focused his attention on Ratchet, who had suddenly decided that playing with his drink was much more interesting than the topic at hand.

"What's going on? Maybe I can help," Crosswise said, giving Day Lily a mild glare. Day Lily gently slapped his thigh before turning her attention to Ratchet.

"Nightshade snapped at me today. She completely lost it with me. I didn't even say anything. Her temperature was a bit low and she was shaking, and I asked her if she wanted to go to the medical bay…and she started screaming at me," Ratchet admitted quietly, swishing the high grade around once more. Crosswise paused and thought for a few seconds. Nightshade usually had the patience of a temple-guardian. This was completely out of character for the femme.

"Has anything else been happening to her? She doesn't talk to us that much any more," Day Lily inquired, folding her hands on the table top. Then she pulled away, staring down in horror at a sticky spot on the table. Ratchet sighed gently, trying to clear his thoughts. A small smile crossed his face plates as he watched Day Lily furiously scrub at the spot with a rag before setting her hands down. He now knew where Nightshade inherited her periodic obsessive compulsive moments.

"Now that you mention it…ever since Starlight has disappeared, she can't stay still. She can't recharge for very long. I've tried to get her down to the medical bay but she won't listen to me. Sometimes it's completely different – she'll recharge sixteen or more hours at a time…I just can't pinpoint what's wrong with her."

Day Lily stiffened suddenly, her optics narrowing. Crosswise watched on, amused. When Day Lily perked up like that, it meant that she knew something she probably shouldn't have known. His mate may have been a bit scattered with her thoughts, but she was an intelligent one…she probably already knew what was vexing Nightshade.

"Has she been refueling more often?"

"Yes, actually, she has, but-"

"Does she refuse to interface for a few days, then 'jumps' you, so to speak?"

"Uhm…I…don't think that's…appropriate."

"Just answer me."

Crosswise covered his audios. He did not need to know about his daughter's relations with this mech…he preferred to think of his little sparkling as just being friends with the mech, not mates…

"Yes…," he admitted quietly, wincing at the mild glare that Crosswise sent in his direction. What? He'd rather invoke the wrath of Crosswise over invoking Day Lily's wrath.

"How much time does she spend in the nursery?"

"She does double shifts regularly. Day Lily, I don't understand what this has to do with Nightshade's condition-"

"Does she…well. In human terms, it would be called 'spacing out'. We don't really have a term for it…at least a polite one. Anyway. Does she stare off into space often?"

"Yes, but Day Lily, what's going on? I don't understand-"

"I think I do. Where is she?"

Ratchet shrugged helplessly and went back to his drink, peering down into the bottom of his barrel. Maybe he would get some more. Or maybe not, because if Nightshade found out that he had had more than one barrel, he would be sleeping out in the living room for the next orn.

"I've tried communicating with her…and she's even blocked our bond," he muttered dejectedly, swishing around the few droplets that remained in the bottom of the barrel. Crosswise perked up as well, looking at his mate. Their expressions changed subtly. First a slight frown appeared on Crosswise's face and then a sheepish smile from Day Lily finished the silent conversation. Crosswise then settled back in the chair, his face an impassive and neutral mask. Inside, his thoughts were whirling…could it be possible?

Day Lily excused herself and went to find her daughter…but not before making a quick stop at the medical bay.

00000

"Nightshade, I know you're up here. Come out and talk to me," Day Lily said, shivering in the freezing cold wind. She heard a dejected grumble from somewhere to her left and she turned. Nightshade rose on unsteady legs and made her way over to her mother, a frown on her face.

"Don't slouch, Nightshade. Now what's this I hear about you acting like a spoilt sparkling?"

"I _am _not acting like a spoilt sparkling…alright, so maybe I am…I just don't know what's wrong with me," she said, trying to defend herself weakly. Day Lily nodded and opened the door, stepping back so that she and her daughter could go back into the warmth and safety of the building.

"Let's talk inside, where it's a bit warmer. Come along."

They were settled into a warm office a few minutes later. Nightshade ungracefully dropped into a chair, her arms and legs strewn where they landed. Daisy perched on the edge of her seat, crossed her legs at the ankle, and gave Nightshade a disapproving sniff. Her etiquette training had all but disappeared upon arriving on the planet.

"Now, Nightshade. Tell me what's going on."

"Ratchet is irritating me," she said bluntly, crossing her arms and shifting in her seat. Day Lily subtly rolled her optics.

"I meant for you to tell me what your symptoms were, darling," Day Lily said, an optic ridge rising slowly.

"Oh…I don't know. I honestly don't know, mother. I can't hold any fuel down any more. I can't recharge. I can't stop shaking and I have the worst mood swings…"

"Hmm…I know this is still a very sensitive topic, Night, but…do you know to what extent your files were corrupted?"

Nightshade suddenly fell silent.

"I-I know they are still there…and I examined them myself…there was only one thing that was completely unsalvageable…my regulator…it's gone completely haywire. It's been at one hundred percent since I...I was attacked...and a few weeks ago, maybe three or four orns, it went to zero. I don't know if it's accurate or not. Ratchet and I just ignored it. We both assumed it was gone…"

"Have you and Ratchet ever discussed raising a sparkling?"

"I've suspected for a while that I might be…but…I don't want to know if…I'm not... I don't think I could take the pain…"

Day Lily nodded and began rummaging around in a compartment in her arm. She removed a handful of credits, placing the hexagonal chips on the table. A series of small trinkets followed – a tiny embroidered bag, Nightshade's dancer's emblem, a few glittering gems, and a minuscule watch.

"Nightshade, you need to be tested. Even if you are not, there is still something wrong with your systems – "

A bag of energon sweets joined the coins on the table and Nightshade pounced on them. She devoured the entire bag in less than a minute, unaware of the triumphant, knowing, smirk on her mother's face. Nightshade sheepishly smiled at her mother, wiping the sticky candy from her fingers. Day Lily pulled a medical scanner from her arm compartment, ignoring Nightshade's questioning stare. Why was she carrying one around?

"Let me scan you, Nightshade. I want to know."

Nightshade nodded and disengaged her scanning block, praying to Primus…

Day Lily flicked the switch on the device on and thoroughly scanned her daughter's abdominal region. Then the machine beeped quietly. Day Lily set it down on the table gingerly, explaining quietly that it would take a few minutes to read the scans. Nightshade's fingers dug into the sides of her chair. The minute hand on the clock on the wall moved ever so slowly, almost taunting her.

It quietly swept around the face of the clock twice. Nightshade started fidgeting slightly, staring at the little scanner. It glinted temptingly in the halogen lights of the room. She settled back in the chair. The hands on the clock made a third, fourth, and finally fifth revolution. The air was thick with apprehension. Nightshade sighed and braced herself – there was no point in hoping. There was no way that she could have conceived. She was too young and her files were corrupted. She was just setting herself up for spark-break, it wasn't fair that she had to go through this -

The machine beeped loudly and Nightshade almost leapt into the air. Day Lily gently lifted the device. Then she began reading the results, nodding and 'hmm-ing' every now and then. Day Lily then set the machine down on the table, a curious expression on her face plates.

"Mother, please don't frag with me. Tell me."

Day Lily looked up at her daughter, her face blank and expressionless. Amber optics glittered with mirth, and suddenly Nightshade knew.

"Mother," she whispered quietly, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Day Lily's face broke into a radiant smile, opening her arms out to her daughter.

"Congratulations, my little sparkling – wait, I can't call you that now. You're a fully grown femme now," Day Lily said, and suddenly, Nightshade's optics were filled with cleaning fluid as well.

"I-I conceived?" Nightshade's optics were wide in shock. She wanted _so_ _badly_ to believe her mother but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Day Lily nodded, holding the device out. With trembling fingers, Nightshade took the scanner. She slowly turned it over. Tiny spirals of Cybertronian winked up at her from the display.

…_Setting: Detect conception stage. Frequency: 2000 kHz. Sensitivity: 100 percent._

_No compensation for outside activity. Scan for spark-material only._

_Results now available. Continue?_

_Conception confirmed. Sparkling at least four orns of age. Log medical scan?_

Nightshade stared down at the device, her hands trembling. Day Lily wrapped her arms around the emotional femme and held her tightly. The screen blurred as cleaning fluid tears leaked from her optics.It _couldn't_ be. Had Primus gifted her with a child of her own? Had she truly proven herself worthy in his optics? The scanner landed on the carpeted floor with a muffled thump. Nightshade wrapped her arms around her mother and cried into her shoulder – she cried because there was _hope_.

00000

Nightshade's optics turned on and she peered around the room. Ratchet was in the berth beside her, reading a holocube. Her thoughts became clouded and confused as the mech put his cube down slowly. He didn't speak, he only watched. Ratchet gazed at her, puzzled. The femme was staring around the room as though she'd never seen it before. Her hand rested gently on her abdomen. The other was used to prop her up in the berth. Nightshade began wracking her memory banks. She remembered the blazing cold outside. She remembered the pinpricks of pain that had covered her exposed circuitry…she _remembered_ the tears on her face, and the elation and joy…she _could still taste_ the candy she had eaten. …it had all felt _so_ real.

Had…had it all been a cruel dream?

00000

I made my brother read this and he told me I was a soulless (expletive) and that I had a one way ticket to you-know-where. :O

Was it all real? Or was it all just a dream? (insert evil cackle here)


	29. In Which There is Guesswork

Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form.

Quick recap: _"…had it all been a cruel dream?..._"

I think I mentioned this in previous chapters, but I'll do it again, just in case someone has forgotten. The term and process of carrying belongs to Litahatchee and I'm only borrowing it. :D

However. The method and term of spark-labor belongs to me. I have seen the term spark birth used in many different ways, but I thought I'd be safer making up my own term and not encroaching on someone else's idea.

I'm pretty lenient about these things, but ask the owner of the idea before you decide to use it. Don't just take it and run, because I promise that I will find out, and I will chase you down. I may not look it, but I can run pretty darn fast. :) I'm pretty sure that other authors are sick of having their work taken. Besides, upset authors make the best mobs. XD

And I'm sorry that I have to put these thingies up at the beginning of each chapter, but every day I see a story that's taken something from me or another author. I'm fed up with it. So if you like what you see, ask before you take, even if it's just a few lines.

00000

The room was dark. It was hot in the room but it was suddenly cold for Nightshade. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she sat up fully, swinging her legs over the edge of the berth. She clutched at the edge of the bed, wracking her memory files. The files were there, yes, but what had happened? Had she somehow "dreamed" the entire scene up and stored it as memory? But if she had, Wheeljack's lab would be intact…There was only one way to find out…

"Nightshade, what's the matter," Ratchet asked quietly, unsettled by the blank stare on her face. He immediately sat up, scooting close by the femme. What had possessed her to act this way?

"I-I have to go and see something," she murmured quietly, standing on shaky legs. She slowly made her way toward the door and Ratchet stood up quietly. Nightshade was walking slowly, almost drifting through the room. He followed quickly, calling her name out softly. She turned her clouded gaze to him.

"Yes, Ratchet?"

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Y-yes," she said, nodding slightly. Ratchet gently wrapped a supportive arm around her waist, leading her from the room. Maybe if he went with her, he could get to the bottom of this…seeing his mate like this was unnerving. He then vowed to do all that was within his power to fix what was wrong. He had failed as her mate before and he would not do it again.

00000

Nightshade and Ratchet stole through the darkened hallways, their footsteps metallic feather light brushes on the floor below. Nightshade said nothing, her optics gazing at the floor. Ratchet watched her curiously, allowing her to lead him down the hallway. He looked up. Why were they going to Wheeljack's lab? She stopped a few meters away from the hallway junction, unable to look around the corner. If it were a dream, she would quite possibly never recover from the spark break…

"Ratchet, please tell me it isn't a cruel dream," she whispered quietly.

"What's the matter, Nightshade? Tell me what's going on," he said, cupping her face in his hand. Nightshade steadied herself before speaking, bracing herself for the pain. Ratchet could feel her sorrow through their bond. It was poorly hidden, but she still would not allow him into her half of the bond. While it hurt, he realized that she must have had a reason to do so. She was keeping something from him…something important.

"Did Wheeljack explode his lab yesterday?"

00000

_Meanwhile, three doors down…_

Prime was tired- no, wait, perhaps that was the understatement of the century. He had barely made a dent in his Unicron-sized to-do list. He'd managed to make some head way – he had the ex-decepticons partnered up with trustworthy Autobots to finish the military living quarters. The civilian half of the base had been put on hold. With that predicament out of the way, he only had to find out how to provide energon for the lot, without harming the environment. Solar and wind power were at the top of his list, along with repairing Wheeljack's labs and keeping Sunstreaker out of the medical bay. Ratchet may have had a femme to smooth out his rough edges, but he still got cranky, especially when Sunstreaker came into the med bay…and that meant repairing even more dents in the walls.

Shaking his head, Prime put these thoughts away. They were currently in possession of three trading vessels and four small shuttles, brought by the colonists. What they would do with them was beyond him – the humans were the only species they could legally trade with in this sector. Other species weren't even aware that they could travel among the stars. Interfering with their natural evolution was strictly forbidden. Their space bridges were now rendered useless. The main control center had been destroyed on Cybertron, effectively stranding them out in the alpha quadrant. Prime then destroyed the data of space bridges. The humans may have been their partners, but he would not give them anything _that_ high tech.

Prime had made the wonderful decision of putting Sunstreaker and Sideswipe on digging duty and then in charge of escorting the younglings back and forth from their lessons. By the time they got off shift, they were too tired to even speak. It was a win-win situation for everyone on the base. At least they only had to worry about Ember and Evergreen now.

Things were getting better – instead of shorting allowing their leader to short a circuit, Prowl and Ratchet had demanded that he pass work on. Ratchet had even stated that by his professional opinion, Optimus and Elita's spark bond needed more attention. So, by medical order, Prime had his duties wrestled away from him.

He'd dumped the entire civilian housing project on a small administration femme. She'd been pestering him for a bigger, more important job. Optimus snickered as he looked over his memory files – the look on her face when he dropped the data pads, blueprints, and budget onto her desk was absolutely _priceless_. He would bring up that file in his computing center every time he needed a good laugh.

The human government was cooperating splendidly. The president was being unusually cooperative as well. Re-elections were coming up. He'd even sent some extra supplies, as a 'gift'. Prime snorted – he knew that their presence among the humans was to be revealed after the next election. Prime knew that he was being bribed to put a good word in for him…or not. President Smith also sent a few dozen solar panels for them to experiment with. So far, Wheeljack had managed to produce a few cubes of energon from the panels. It was far from being able to run the base but it was a major improvement, rather than relying on earth fuels and polluting the planet.

Barricade and Frenzy had both been snatched up by Prowl to help him with security. Those two could get any information he wanted within the hour, even top secret stuff, as long as Frenzy had coffee and Barricade had an IPod. Prowl suspected that Barricade and Blaster would become good friends. Prime nodded to himself, humming softly in approval of the situation – the ex-decepticons had been fully integrated into daily life on the base, with only a few snags along the way. Things were getting better.

And…and someone had sent him an anonymous message asking if there were designs available for a sparkling's body. Dismissing it as a prank, Prime had voiced his concerns to Ratchet. What if one of the femmes had indeed conceived a sparkling? Ratchet had shrugged, knowing nothing of the topic at hand. If any femme had conceived, he would have known about it by now. If the femme hid it from him…there would be Pit to pay with the medic. Ratchet took his duties seriously, almost too seriously. Anyone taken under his wing was considered a patient, and no one messed with his patients.

Prime leaned back in his chair, fond memories of a battle in the past drifting through his computing center. Ratchet had already established himself as the meanest medic out on the field. The mech had been operating on one of the twins when Skywarp dropped out of the sky and held a gun to Ratchet's head. Ratchet let out a chilling growl and told the seeker that if he did not remove the weapon, the seeker would find his thrusters welded to his head. Prime chuckled as he remembered the look on Skywarp's face. Those were the moments Prime loved.

Stifling a sleepy rev from his engine, Prime reached over and flicked the light on his desk off. He rose to his feet and left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. Another late night…Elita was going to_ kill_ him. Once he had reached his quarters, he moved as quietly as a sixteen ton mech could. Elita did not stir. She only grumbled quietly as he gently shoved her to the other side. Optimus leaned back and shut his optics off, rumbling quietly as Elita draped herself on his frame.

There were quiet footsteps outside in the hallway. Slag. He'd forgotten to turn the sound dampeners on. He gently pried Elita from his chest, ignoring the soft "nooo" that came from her vocalizers. Then he got to his feet and hurried over to the wall. Snatches of a conversation passed by and he couldn't help but to press his audio receptor against the seam of the door. What were Ratchet and Nightshade doing up this early in the morning? With his optics wide, he continued to listen…

00000

"Ratchet, please. Did he?"

"Yes, he did, Nightshade. Don't you remember?"

"I-I thought I had dreamed it up," she whispered quietly. Her optics glittered with an emotion he hadn't seen before. She was happy about something, he could feel it through their bond. He nudged at her gently, trying to bring the block down. She shook her head.

"Please give me a few more hours, Ratchet. I-I couldn't do that to you and then tell you no," she murmured quietly, absently taking his hand in hers and leading him back down the hallway. Ratchet stared at her. What was going on? He needed to get to the bottom of this, now.

"Don't worry, Ratchet, you'll find out later on today."

"You promise? I don't like this at all, Nightshade."

"I know, I promise I will tell you today. Please, just hold me right now."

The journey back to the room was short and quiet. Nightshade moved through the darkened room silently, settling onto the berth. A small smile crossed her face plates. Ratchet lay down beside her, reaching for her tentatively. He didn't know if she was going to blow up at him again... Nightshade suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. After a few minutes, she pulled away, giving him a radiant, _knowing_ smile. She then burrowed into his arms, ignoring Ratchet's confusion. Ratchet held her close, kissing the top of her head. When she spoke, it was so quiet that he almost did not hear her.

"I love you, Ratchet."

"I love you too, Nightshade."

00000

Nightshade was on edge. Two minutes until her break. Two minutes until she could test herself. Two minutes until she found out whether or not she was going to be converting that extra office into a nursery. She had already 'borrowed' Ratchet's scanner. Now the device lay in one of the compartments in her arm, assuring in its hefty weight. Moon Racer saw Nightshade clutching at the counter with something akin to pain on her face. Concerned, Moon Racer gently placed her hand on Nightshade's shoulder.

"Nightshade – oh, I'm so sorry!"

Nightshade had leapt into her air, clutching at her fuel pump. Then she whirled around, a murderous glint in her optic. Seeing that her 'attacker' was Moon Racer, the glint in her optic disappeared and a smile appeared on her face.

"Oh, hello, Moon Racer. What can I help you with?"

"I just wanted to know if you were alright. You're kind of twitchy today." _Way to be blunt_, Moon Racer thought to herself, wincing slightly. Nightshade's smile drooped like a wilted flower.

"Just nerves," Nightshade said quickly. Then she looked up at the clock and saw that it was time for break.

"I-I have to go, I'll be back in a breem," Nightshade said, scurrying into one of the examining rooms and locking the door behind herself. Moon Racer just stared before shaking her head. If Ratchet didn't get to the bottom of this soon, she was going to strap Nightshade down to a table and figure it out herself.

00000

Nightshade sat in a chair inside the room, trembling as she set the device up. She took her scanning blocks down and ran the device over her abdominal area. Even though she was trembling in sheer apprehension and terror on the inside, her hands were steady. The machine beeped, alerting her that it had gathered enough information to give accurate results. Nightshade set it down on the counter beside her and stared at it. The minutes dragged by, with the numbers on the digital display changing slowly.

Primus, this was _worse_ than the first time she had been scanned. After a few minutes, the machine beeped quietly. She lunged for it, sending the machine over the edge of the table. She managed to catch it before it hit the ground and winced. If it had hit the ground, she would have had to start all over again. With shaking hands, she righted the machine and began to read the spiraling letters.

…_Setting: Detect conception stage. Frequency: 2000 kHz. Sensitivity: 100 percent._

_No compensation for outside activity. Scan for spark-material only._

_Results now available. Continue?_

_Conception confirmed. Sparkling is between four and five orns of age. Log medical scan?_

Nightshade selected 'yes' on the screen and shut it off. Numbness settled over her body. _She was going to have a sparkling._ She and Ratchet were going to become creators. Maybe she wasn't as defective as she thought!

Then, sudden happiness surged through her systems and she began to laugh happily. She put the device away, saving the data to show Ratchet. She almost ran out of the room and into the library, just to double check her findings. Moon Racer was startled out of her wits by Nightshade running into the medical library, her optics darting around, searching for something. Moon Racer peered down at her and placed a holo-cube back on the shelf before climbing back down the ladder.

"Whoa, girlie. What's going on? Where's the fire," Moon Racer asked, watching the femme furiously flip through a catalogue of the available books. Nightshade only smiled up at her. Selecting a book, she shut the catalogue and disappeared into the metal shelves. Moon Racer only watched curiously. _That's what she gets for bonding herself to Ratchet,_ she thought, smirking, _she's finally gone nutters._

Nightshade found the holo-cube she was looking for and took it from its protective case. Sitting on the floor, she flipped a tiny switch on the pad and watched as Cybertronian appeared in the air in front of her optics. She moved her hand into the display of light-matter, selecting a page number and topic. The light color changed and fizzled quietly before the display changed. Her symptoms matched the ones in the book perfectly.

Irritability with a full night's recharge? Yes. Was she always either hot or cold? Yes, to an extreme. Some days she had to recharge with all of the heating vents on. Some days, she had to turn the environmental controls in the living room off and recharge out there. Did she purge after a few sips of energon? Yes. Everywhere, unfortunately. Did she go for orns without interfacing and then jump her mate? Yes. Whether or not it was fortunate depended on who was asked about the situation.

She, the 'defective' femme, had managed to _conceive._

Nightshade then replaced the book and took off in search of her mate for him to thoroughly scan her.

00000

"RATCHET!!"

Ratchet spun around at the sound of Nightshade's voice. Prime stopped mid-sentence, peering down the hallway curiously. Then Nightshade launched herself into Ratchet's arms, throwing her arms around his neck. Ratchet mentally groaned – it wasn't that he didn't want to interface (he loved interfacing just as much as the next mech) but he was talking to Prime right now…and nothing killed the mood more than having his boss standing right beside him while Nightshade was sending suggestive comments through their bond. Prime chortled and winked at Ratchet, excusing himself.

"Nightshade, what-"

"Guess what! Guess what," she said, her optics twinkling brightly. He was suddenly wary. What had she done? Had she rigged the shower? Had she rearranged the library? _Had she finally gone crazy?_

"I am _not_ crazy," she cried out, jabbing him in the shoulder, "Guess what I just found out."

"You're hungry," he stated, pulling the most logical explanation of her strange behavior from the air around them. Nightshade blinked up at him before shaking her head. Ratchet sighed. He had work to do, he didn't have time to play any silly games right now.

"No, silly. Guess again."

"You…want to recharge?"

"No, Ratchet. One last guess."

"I don't know, tell me," he grumbled quietly, checking the clock on the wall. Red Alert was going to _flay_ him within an inch of his life if he wasn't in the med bay in exactly three minutes and twenty two seconds. Red Alert had a night planned out for his mate and had made it very clear to the rest of them that he was not going to tolerate their actions any more. Then he left, throwing his identification badge at Moon Racer.

"Guess," she whined, crossing her arms. The gentle drumming of her fingers on his shoulder armor brought him down back to Earth from his reminiscing. Ratchet, realizing that she was not going to move until he had complied, took a final stab at what she had found out.

"You're getting a promotion?"

"Well…yes, that too, but that's not it."

"What is it then?"

"What color should we paint our sparkling?"

Ratchet stared back at her in confusion for a second before he realized the implications of what she had just said. His jaw almost hit the floor and he began stuttering quietly, earning a giggle from Nightshade. Happiness flowed through his systems, almost shorting a few circuits at the pure elation that he felt.

"Wh-what? You mean…"

"Scan me, Ratchet. I've already done it twice, but I-I still can't believe it," she said happily, poking him in the shoulder again. She let go of him, sliding to the ground and landing gently on her feet. Ratchet nodded and booted up the long unused software. His optics dimmed to green. His world turned into a variety of blackish blue hues. Everything was slightly fuzzy, but he could still see her spark, sharply outlined on the inky background by its brilliance. It was an almost blindingly white star on the black background with tendrils of electric-blue radiation snaking out toward his spark. Ratchet gasped when he saw it. Nestled safely in her reproductive tank, almost entirely hidden within the jumbled wires, lines, and buffer fluid, was a tiny glowing spark. It couldn't have been more than a few orns old, he realized. The only reason he hadn't been able to detect it long before that because she had a scanning block up at all times.

His optics returned to sapphire. Nightshade threw her arms around him, trembling as she finally brought down her firewalls. He surged into their bond and back to his rightful place, wrapping his arms around her tightly. They had been blessed with a sparkling of their own. After all they had been through, they had been given one of the greatest gifts their kind could receive.

"Nightshade, I can't believe it…please tell me I'm not dreaming," Ratchet whispered quietly, stroking the side of her face. She smiled at him and kissed him gently.

"You're not, Ratchet," she said happily.

00000

They decided not to tell anyone. Nightshade had already had enough excitement to last her two lifetimes with what had happened with Starscream. For weeks after she'd recovered, she'd been treated like a doll made of china. She wasn't given full shifts, if she looked ill someone would call Ratchet, if she so much as sighed, they'd give her the rest of the day off…it was nice at first, but then it got old very quickly. And if she told anyone about the little spark she carried, there would be an explosion of epic proportions. With her corrupted files, no one thought that she would ever manage to conceive, but she had miraculously managed to do something that took other healthy femmes years to accomplish.

She wouldn't be allowed to do anything at all – no work and all rest – and Nightshade enjoyed her work in the nursery and in the medical bay. She would die of boredom if she had to rest in bed for the next year…then again, being waited on hand and foot sounded nice, if only for a few days... Throwing in the fact that the local terror was going to become a creator was more than enough to finalize their choice.

She actually giggled at that one. Red Alert's CPU would probably crash…along with a few dozen others. Many mechs on base had no idea what Nightshade saw in Ratchet. Sure, he was a good looking mech but he was callous and rude at times, and he preferred the solitude of his room over the noisy commons room. He was a loner by nature, something that most Cybertronians were not programmed for. Their kind was communal and entirely dependant on strong relationships. Ratchet participated occasionally, but he preferred his peace and quiet. He was not the ideal candidate to sire a sparkling. Nightshade on the other hand, was a right little ray of sunshine. She was bright and cheerful, a regular social butterfly. She was intelligent and had a career of her own, an ideal mate…but for some odd reason, her spark had settled on Ratchet.

And if Chromia and Elita found out? She shuddered – every mech and femme and _human_ would know about it in a matter of _astroseconds_. Nightshade may have loved the two femmes like sisters, but she sure wasn't going to tell them every single little detail of her private life. There would be Pit to pay with those two femmes…especially if Nightshade did not include them in the spark-labor portion of the birth. She pushed her worries and anxiety away, if only for a few hours. They would deal with it later, but not now.

Tonight was a night to celebrate.

00000

Ratchet was sitting up against the wall, his legs splayed over the berth. Nightshade came into the room and stood beside him, her fists on her hips. He ignored her, a small smile crossing his face. The display from the holocube changed, revealing a picture of an organic creature. Nightshade huffed quietly. Ratchet knew that she didn't like it when he took up the entire berth. Then again, some nights she would all but shove him off by curling up so close to him. She continued glaring at him. His smile grew bigger.

"Rat-chet."

"What is it, love," he finally asked, turning an adoring gaze up at her. That particular look always managed to get him out of trouble.

"You're taking up the entire berth again."

"Oops?"

He still did not move.

"Ratchet, I want to lie down," she whined quietly, poking his shoulder gently. He put his cube down and looked up at her, an appraising look on his face. His arms darted out, wrapping themselves around her waist before tugging her down on top of him. She squeaked, flailing her arms and legs as she tried to regain her balance. Ratchet turned her so that she was sitting sideways in his lap, with her legs dangling over the edge of the berth.

"What now, femme?"

She giggled quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a few moments before Ratchet spoke. His face was impassive and mask like, betrayed by the mischievous glint in his optics.

"You know, Nightshade…"

"What, Ratchet," she asked warily. The last time he had gotten this tone of voice, he had tickled her silly and incoherent.

"I don't like it when you pay more attention to other mechs than me," he said quietly, a smirk on his face. She gave him a blank look before bursting into hearty laughter.

"What mech…you're jealous of Scorponok? Don't make me laugh! Oh…you're serious, aren't you?"

"Completely," he said, his tone serious and grave. Nightshade snorted, biting her lower lip. His face broke out into a grin and she realized his intentions. She squeaked again, tensing in anticipation of being tickled within an inch of her life. His fingers slipped under her armor, gently brushing up against the very sensitive circuitry that lay beneath. She began squealing, batting at his hands wildly.

"AH! Stop it! That t-tickles!"

Ratchet only smirked at her before his assault increased by tenfold. She shrieked in laughter, slapping at his hands and squirming. She fell over onto the berth, her head hitting the soft padding. He pounced on her, mock-growling.

"You're mine now, femme!"

"AH!"

It was a little over five minutes later when Ratchet finally ceased and desisted. Nightshade crumpled over on the berth, glaring up at him while trying to calm her racing intake fans. Once more, he playfully growled when she stuck her glossa out at him, gently teasing the femme with his dexterous fingers. She squealed loudly, kicking at him and missing.

"Stop! Ratchet!"

The sound of Ironhide's massive fist beating on the wall next to them startled them from their game.

"_Some of us are tryin' to recharge, yah fraggers!"_

Ironhide once again proved why they needed higher quality sound dampeners. Ratchet snorted quietly and turned the lights off. He turned onto his side and gathered Nightshade close in his arms, happily reaching through their bond. She embraced him both physically and through their bond, pulling him even closer. Nightshade smiled when his hand drifted downwards and settled protectively over the tiny spark she carried.

Things were going to be much, much more different now.

00000

I know I'm mean and all, but I'm not _that_ cruel. :D


	30. In Which there is Dreaming

Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Transformers except my OC's.

Like what you see? Ask before you take.

In this installment, we learn a little about Cybertronian physiology….

And, since it will be used later in this chapter, here's the research from Chapter Five that I did:

Astrosecond - .498 seconds

Joor – 8 hours

Orn – 2 weeks

Vorn – 83 years

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**Note: I am starting my internship in a few days. I have six AP exams to study for. I have to get ready for the military academy. I will ****not** **be updating for a long while. But when I do, expect a monster of a chapter. It's all about Chromia's past. By my calculations, it'll be anywhere from 10k – 20k words. I won't be updating but I can respond to PMs and reviews, so I won't totally disappear on y'all.**

**See y'all in a couple of weeks. :D**

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**EDIT: I had to manually replace all of my dividers. I _was_ going to update, but since ff decided to EAT my hyphens, I must go and fix everything before I can update. Look for an extra chapter or two at the beginning once I get around to it. I started a side story for Nightshade's adventures as a mech, but...I'm just going to stick them in as interludes.**

* * *

Ratchet purred softly in his sleep, his foot twitching slightly in time with his dream sequence. His computing center must have shorted somewhere because the image regulator was not functioning as it should have been. Now, Cybertronians had 'dreams' just like humans did, except theirs were a bit more predictable. If a Cybertronian particularly enjoyed a certain image or video, they could transfer the file over to a folder and randomize the sequence in which they were played. If the delicate fuse that connected the circuitry to its regulating chip blew, then the files would meld together and create a messy, indecipherable jumble of images and sounds. This was easily fixed, but it had rather interesting effects on the 'dreaming' subject. Tonight, Ratchet's fuse had been jostled loose. His sequence was now regulated in some areas. In some places, the files had been temporarily corrupted…

…_he was running as quickly as he could. His footsteps clanged against the cobblestones beneath his feet. The clouds above him were acid-green and sickly paint-like swirls on the sky. Red lightning flashed from those clouds, illuminating the eerie landscape around him. One bolt hit him and he leapt into the air, batting at the sparks dancing over his frame…except his armor was melting! Ratchet ran for the lake in the distance, maybe if he jumped in it, the melting would stop - he tripped over something and he looked behind himself. It was a gnarled oak tree root, jutting up out of the path. He pushed himself up on his hands…and then he looked at his hands. They weren't his! He grimly realized that his armor had melted completely off, leaving nothing but a human shell behind! He began running once more, searching for someone to help him. Suddenly, a group of human femmes appeared from a nearby patch of trees. They began laughing at him and pointing._

"_Help me!"_

"_Look at him!"_

"_What are you laughing at?!"_

_He looked down. Then he looked up at the sky and growled. _

_He hated dream sequences where he was only in his protoform._

"NO!"

Ratchet shot up out of the berth, ignoring Nightshade's squeak of surprise. He darted into the bathing area and in front of the mirror. He ran his hands down his armor. Good, everything was in place. His armor felt strong and solid and reassuring underneath his fingertips. He let out a shuddering sigh of relief, sagging against the counter. Nightshade peeped around the corner warily.

"Are you alright, Ratchet?"

He turned a serious optic over at the femme and spoke softly.

"I need to have my image regulator looked at."

00000

Moon Racer snickered as Ratchet relayed the dream sequence to her. Currently, she was kneeling on the surgical table beside Ratchet. She was too short to stand beside Red Alert and comfortably peer into what she was operating on. Red Alert was standing beside her, keeping a watchful optic on the femme's hands. Ratchet growled as Moon Racer's hand tinkered around inside his chest, pushing aside wires and cables with no regard to his discomfort. She reached further into his chest cavity, up to her elbow in the wires and circuits.

"Moon Racer, pay attention. That cable in your hand is the main motor cable. Follow it down until it reaches the main abdominal support strut."

"Alright…wait. Is this it?

"No, Moon Racer. Those are his lateral chest support structures. Try again."

Ratchet almost whimpered at the thought of Moon Racer's inexperience with advanced procedures. What had he done to deserve this, again? Moon Racer finally huffed and scooted closer beside Ratchet, using both hands to push aside the jumble of wires.

"When was the last time you had these organized," Moon Racer muttered, casting a dark look over at the reclining medic. Ratchet shrugged his shoulders. In normal Cybertronians, regular maintenance meant that cables and lines would be sorted and bundled together to minimize confusion during operations. However, the wires in Ratchet's chest vaguely resembled an electrocuted bird's nest.

"Is this it, Red?"

"Yes, now gently – I said gently! Follow it to the main abdominal support struts. You can't miss it, Moon Racer," Red Alert said gently, guiding the femme's hands. Ratchet groaned softly – had he really been that inexperienced while he was a rookie? Moon Racer shot him a dark glare, _accidentally_ slipping and grazing his fuel tank with her elbow. Ratchet yelped in pain.

"Moon Racer!"

"What," the femme said, exasperated. Red Alert rolled his optics and continued with his lecture.

"The fuse should be on the dorsal side of the strut. It will be contained in a fluid-proof box."

"Is the box white and mostly opaque?"

"Yes," Ratchet answered snippily, shifting uncomfortably as Moon Racer's hands brushed against his fuel tank.

"Keep still, lug head," Red Alert admonished, flicking the side of Ratchet's helm. This earned him a rather low growl.

"I'll show you 'lug head' when you need to be recertified," Ratchet snapped, giving Red Alert the most evil glare that he could. Moon Racer tittered quietly, shifting her perch. Red Alert scrabbled through a drawer before finding the tool he needed.

"Here, Moon Racer. Now use the sharp end to _gently_ pry the lid off."

"I'll be as gentle as Ratchet is with everyone else," Moon Racer snapped, easing the corner of the device into a seam. Then she pushed down, ignoring the yelp of pain from Ratchet.

"Fraggit, femme! What part of 'gentle' do you not understand?!"

"Aw, poor Ratchey-poo," Moon Racer crooned, jabbing the tool in further. With a loud pop, the lid came off. Red Alert took a peek inside, ignoring Ratchet's yelp of pain.

"So that's why your dream sequence was so…interesting," he said, snickering quietly.

"What was wrong," Ratchet asked, trying in vain to look. Red Alert none too gently shoved him back onto the berth, hissing at him to stay still. After a few moments of taking notes and quiet discussion with Moon Racer, Red Alert turned an optic over at Ratchet.

"It was partially connected still," Red Alert said.

"Oh. Alright. Just push it back in and I'll be fine," Ratchet said, waving the mech away.

"No, it needs to be replaced. The polymer is starting to melt."

"Er…go ahead then," Ratchet said, bracing himself for the excruciating pain.

"Moon Racer, on the count of three, I want you to pull the top hard while twisting slightly. One…tw-"

"AAAARGH! MOON RACER!"

"What? I didn't want you to tense up or anything," she said, shrugging and dumping the slightly singed device into a pan. Then she picked up the new one.

"No, I'll put it in. You'll do the next case," Red Alert said hurriedly, rushing over to her side. Noting the evil smirk on her face, he took the device and spare part from her before she would cause Ratchet more pain. Red Alert motioned the femme closer and ignored her pout. Ratchet shot him a silent, grateful look.

"Alright. Taking it out was very easy. Putting it back in is much harder. You have to make sure that these filaments reconnect, or else he'll be back in here…and you'll have to remove it again," Red Alert said, motioning to the delicate wires that adorned the side of the fuse. Moon Racer nodded, showing her understanding.

"And if you have to remove it again, I will _not_ use painkillers on you the next time you need to be serviced, Moon Racer," Ratchet growled, giving her a caustic glare. She stuck her glossa back out at him before turning to watch Red Alert guide the fuse into place. With a dexterity she had never seen before, he twisted his wrist and fingers, sliding the fuse into the port. The fuse clicked into place and began to glow softly.

"Now, we need to use these forceps to snip away the singed ends of the original wiring. You need to remove as little as possible, or else we'll be rewiring his entire system," Red Alert warned, handing Moon Racer the scissors. She nodded and trimmed a miniscule amount from the ends.

Ratchet groaned and stared up at the ceiling. Who knew that the medical terror would be a guinea pig in his own medical bay? Then he vaguely wondered what Nightshade was up to. They had decided to tell a select few about the sparkling she carried: her parents and Red Alert. Red Alert was on by default because he was the only one in the base aside from Ratchet that knew how to deliver a spark…and he was quite possibly his closest friend, aside from Wheeljack.

"Alright, Ratch. You're all done," Red Alert said, clapping the mech on the shoulder. Ratchet nodded and slowly sat up, expecting pain to lace across his abdomen at any second.

"You did well, Moon Racer. I'm surprised I haven't off-lined yet," he teased gently. Then he had to duck as she threw a rag at him.

"Femme! I'm the only one that gets to throw things in here," he growled, holding a fist up. Moon Racer only rolled her optics and left the room. Slag. He was losing his title as owner of the medical bay.

"See you later, Ratchet."

"No, wait a second, Red Alert. I need to talk to you," Ratchet said, making his way over to his office. Red Alert followed slowly, as though he were a doomed man approaching the gallows. What had he done wrong? Once inside, Ratchet shut the door and turned on the sound dampeners.

"Sit, please," he said neutrally, motioning to the seat in front of his desk. Ratchet seated himself, trying to figure out the best way to say what was on his computing center. He did not notice Red Alert's fright.

"What did I do wrong," Red Alert blurted, his optics wide in fear. He had heard horror stories about rookies that messed up in the medical bay and their terror of being called into Ratchet's office. Ratchet blinked, confused. Was he really that intimidating?

"You've done nothing wrong, Red Alert. I merely wanted to ask you a favor."

"O-oh."

"But I want you to swear to me that nothing that is said in this room leaves it," Ratchet said, his voice as serious as Red Alert had ever heard it. He nodded and immediately regretted it as his computing center conjured up some very interesting explanations for Ratchet's behavior.

"I want you to say it, Red Alert."

"I swear on my honor as a medic that nothing will leave this room," he said softly, his optic ridge slowly rising. Oh, Primus, had he actually followed through on his threat to kill the rookies? Did he need help hiding the body?? He did a quick mental tally of the rookies on the base…and found his fuel pump fluttering in terror. Dragonfly was missing. Oh, frag.

"Ratchet, you didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Ratchet choked.

"Oh, Primus, I can't do this, Ratchet, I can't help you hide the body," Red Alert cried out, clutching at the desk in terror. He had sworn to do no harm! What had little Dragonfly done to earn his deactivation?!

"I didn't kill anyone!"

"Oh…sorry, then. I…got a little too carried away."

"Back on track. I wanted you to help me with something."

"Of course, Ratchet. What do you need?"

"I want you to help me build a shell for a sparkling," Ratchet said quietly, watching Red Alert's reaction. Red Alert nodded, his computing center automatically assuming that it was Elita and Optimus's child.

"Of course. Who is it for?"

"Me and Nightshade," he admitted sheepishly, a grin crossing his face plates. Red Alert's jaw dropped.

"You mean…"

"Yes, we're expecting a little one in a few months," Ratchet said, a dreamy smile on his face.

"Oh, my Primus! Congratulations, Ratchet! Is it a mech or femme? When is she due? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Who all is going to be there for the labor? Who's delivering the sparkling? Have you decided on names? And a tutor-"

"Calm your welders, Red Alert! We don't know if it's a mech or femme yet, I know she's between four and five orns along, and I didn't tell you sooner because we found out last night! I don't know who we're including in the labor…it will probably just be us and her creators…maybe Elita and Chromia…"

"Wow, Ratchet. Just…wow. I can't believe it!"

"I also wanted to know something else," Ratchet said, laying a heavy hand on Red Alert's shoulder.

"What?"

"Will you deliver our sparkling?"

Red Alert froze. His optics widened.

"You honestly want me to do it," Red Alert asked quietly. Ratchet nodded.

"You're one of my closest friends, Red. We've practically known each other since we were sparklings ourselves. I…I wanted someone I knew to be there…and…I trust you…and…Nightshade trusts you with her life." Ratchet's voice was suddenly gruff.

"Y-yes, I would be honored," Red Alert finally managed to whisper. His computing center was whirling with thoughts. Why had they selected him? It was rare that a mech other than the sire was present for the delivery, and it was even rarer that a mech actually delivered the sparkling. This was an extremely rare honor…especially since this was the first sparkling born since the beginning of the war. Bumblebee had been the last true birth. The rest of the younglings, even the ones in the shuttle, had been created from the AllSpark and the residual energy it had left behind.

"Alright. Get a hold of yourself, Red. Can't have you getting all weepy on me," Ratchet said gruffly, giving his friend a smirk. Red Alert gave him a glare that would melt steel.

"Fragger," he good naturedly commented, "Primus, Ratchet. You're going to have a kid."

Ratchet nodded, his spark swelling in happiness.

00000

"Well, well. _Someone_ is in a good mood," Chromia said suggestively, leaning onto the counter beside Nightshade. Nightshade stopped humming and looked at the femme beside her.

"Just got promoted, you silly femme," Nightshade said, shaking a finger in Chromia's direction, "So get your mind out of the gutter."

"Uh-huh. Right," Chromia said, leaning back onto her elbows. The younglings were playing peacefully, building cities out of blocks. Nightshade smiled dreamily, watching them, but not really at the same time, lost in her thoughts. She was going to be rearing a little one of her own in a few months.

"So, Chromia, how's the situation with Ironhide?"

"Does wanting to shove the business end of my rifle into his exhaust count?"

"Well, not really."

"He's so frustrating. I've wanted a sparkling ever since the day he and I bonded. He knows that very well. But he's always got an excuse as to why we can't have one of our own," Chromia said sadly, gazing down at the playing younglings. Sensing her sorrow, Starlight turned to her and stared up at her. Chromia knelt and gently gathered the little femme into her arms.

"Oh, Chromia…what's his excuse? Surely, there can't be many," Nightshade said, sitting on a bench. She motioned Chromia and Starlight over, patting the bench beside her. Chromia took a seat, smiling as Starlight began tickling her, trying to bring a smile to the older femme's face.

"Chromie, why you so sad," Starlight chirped. For someone so young, she was astutely aware of her surroundings, especially the emotions of her caretakers. Chromia smiled sadly, stroking the tiny silver helm resting against her chest.

"Nothing, little one, nothing."

"'kay. Cuddle," the youngling said, resting her head on Chromia's chest plates. In a matter of minutes, the little femme was lulled into recharge by Chromia's warm spark and strong, steady pump beat. Chromia set the youngling down in her berth, covering her with a blanket and placing a soft kiss on her helm. Nightshade watched sadly. Chromia took her spot on the bench back, leaning against the wall.

"He…he says that he's too old for a sparkling…and he doesn't really have a way to provide for any sparklings."

"Chromia, he's Prime's third in command. How the frag- I mean, how can he not provide for a sparkling…and he's not even that old," Nightshade asked quietly, her voice hushed so as to not alarm the younglings. One by one, they curled up in their berths and shuttered their optics, resting before another round of play. Nightshade subconsciously moved her hand over her carrying tank, guiltily staring down at the digits of her hand, imagining the tiny blue spark that pulsed beneath. Chromia sighed and dropped her gaze to her lap.

"I don't know, Nightshade. I honestly have no idea…but I guess spending time with these little ones will have to do," Chromia said, her voice breaking at the end of her sentence. Alarmed, Nightshade wrapped her arms around Chromia. She had begun to cry.

"A-after all that we-we've been th-through…after everything th-that I gave up for him…after everything that I've _given him_…he refuses to give me the one thing I want," Chromia managed to choke out.

Nightshade only wrapped her arms more tightly around Chromia, trying her best not to cry along with her. Nightshade steeled herself – Chromia needed someone strong right now. She would be damned if she let Chromia down.

"Sometimes…sometimes I find myself wondering…what my life would be like right now had I bound myself to the other mech," Chromia admitted softly, voicing what she had been waiting years to say. Nightshade froze, her optics going wide in horror.

"Chromia…I'm sorry…"

"Don't be sorry, Nightshade. I'm glad I bonded with Ironhide. He may be a bit slow in the processes, but I still love him dearly…and…Nightshade?"

"Yes, Chromia?"

"I-I just want you to know…if there was any way I could…give you my carrying files…I would do it in an astrosecond. You and Ratchet deserve so much more than this."

"Chromia, don't say that."

"Please listen to me. I know that Ironhide doesn't want a sparkling…there's no point for me to even have them then…," Chromia said softly, taking Nightshade's hands in her own.

"No, Chromia. Don't say things like that. You never know what will happen in a few years. He might change."

"But he hasn't changed since the day we bonded, Nightshade. Sure, he's matured, but he's adamant in not having a sparkling," Chromia said sadly. Nightshade found herself believing Chromia's statement with every electron in her body.

"I just wish he would give me a legitimate reason _why_ he won't create a sparkling with me…do you think I would be that poor of a creator?"

"Chromia, don't say things like that, Ironhide is an aft headed mech, yes, but…"

"Thank you for listening, Nightshade. I needed someone to talk to, I guess…Red Alert was right. Bottling things up is not a good idea," Chromia said softly, a small smile on her face. The younglings began to stir, chirping hungrily.

"Let's get these little ones fed and bathed," Chromia said, a radiant smile on her face. Nightshade felt her spark twist sadly in its case when she saw Chromia pick Starlight up and hold her close to her chest. She placed her hand over her abdomen, guiltily watching Chromia attempt to appease the painful longing in her spark. She hung her head, fighting the tears back. Why would Ironhide do that to Chromia? Anger suddenly surged through her systems. No femme deserved to have her spark's desire denied from her, especially one who had suffered as much as Chromia had.

00000

Nightshade left the nursery. Her spark felt like it was torn in two at the moment. Her femme processes sympathized with Chromia, hating Ironhide for what he was doing. Her logical side only wanted to know _why_ Ironhide would do something like that. The gears in her computing center began to turn. All she knew about Ironhide was that his creators had died fairly young, while he was still just a youngling, leaving the little one to fend for himself.

As Nightshade pondered, she did not notice the optics that followed her retreating figure down the hallway. Chromia watched the femme for a few moments, crossing her arms over her chassis. She had overheard a few bits of her conversation with Ratchet, mentioning something about their office being turned into something. She frowned slightly. What could they be doing to their office that would merit complete and utter secrecy? Unless…Chromia quickly went over the signs that Nightshade had presented, her computing center presenting the only logical reason that Nightshade would be so moody.

"No fraggin' _way_," Chromia breathed, a grin crossing her face. She tiptoed down the hallway until she reached the corner Nightshade had just turned. Chromia peeked down the hallway to observe the femme and the way she walked.

Chromia's optics widened slightly as she watched the femme walk away slowly. Her computing center was right! Nightshade's hand was resting protectively on her abdomen, just above her pelvic armor…right where her reproductive tank was.

00000

Yeah, I know Ironhide's being a bitch, but I've got a reason. :)

And haaaawt damn. One hundred _thousand_ words? Wow.


	31. In Which There is Beginning

* * *

Chapter 31 - part 1 of 3

I know, I lied. I've had the past _three glorious_ days to myself and I've written another chapter. Three beautiful days with no homework and no tests…and extra time to write.

:D

Carrying is the intellectual property of Litahatchee.

I know I promised a monster of a chapter (and I feel that this is a mini-monster) but I've taken the original story and chopped it into pieces. This is the first of three parts. :D Enjoy!

* * *

Starlight was deep in recharge, the soft purring of her tiny engine barely audible over Ratchet's incessant mumbling. The poor mech was up to his audios in unfinished work today. Prime had deemed it necessary and proper to hand over the specifications for Wheel Jack's labs _three_ hours before they were due to start rebuilding the scorched and mangled remains of the science wing of the base. Wheeljack's mistake with the energon _still_ had not been fixed. Ratchet contemplated just leaving the room as was, since Wheeljack would blow it up again anyway. Moving on in his massive stack of datapads, he growled quietly upon reading two very familiar names.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had once again, managed to anger Ironhide, resulting in a mass casualty of ceiling tiles, interface appliances, and champion sized dents in a certain golden aft, all of which, were to be repaired by Ratchet himself. Red Alert and Moon Racer were absolutely no help at all, the both of them having taken the day off.

Wheeljack was currently and once again out of commission. He had some how managed to incinerate himself and everything within a ten yard radius up using one battery, two electrical wires, a potato, and exactly three quarters of an ounce of liquid nitroglycerin. Ratchet tried not to think about how 'Jack managed to make such a fire out of a rather boring and innocuous vegetable and primitive explosives. Wheeljack managed to at least mutter through his delirium why it had happened and why he was even tinkering around with human explosives: he had found a potential fuel source using the starches in the potato and the explosive qualities of the nitroglycerin. Now the responsibilities of fixing stupid mechs and their even stupider mistakes lay upon the capable shoulders of Ratchet.

The tiny silver bundle in the bottom of the playpen recharged away, blissfully unaware of her temporary caretaker's current dilemma. Starlight was currently dreaming of Nightshade and Chromia, the wonderful pictures of four legged equines and flowers that Ratchet had shown her today during her learning session, and the bag of energon goodies hidden underneath a certain box in the nursery. Starlight clicked softly in her recharge cycle and Ratchet froze. He prayed to Primus that the little femme would not wake up – if the femme requested to listen to "I'm A Little Teapot" _one more time_, he wasn't going to be held accountable for the damage he would cause to the next mech that walked into the medical bay! A few tense seconds went by. She clicked again, curling up even more tightly. Ratchet let out an audible sigh of relief when the little femme moved no more. Primus must have been smiling down at him today.

Turning back to his desk, he attacked the pile of data pads with a ferocity that none had ever seen before, scanning and leaving comments on each datapad within seconds of picking it up. He quietly typed a message up for Prime to come and retrieve Wheel Jack's floor plan, a victorious smirk on his face. This was the first time in _ages_ that he had been able to finish his work in just one day. Ratchet slouched back in his chair, deciding that a quick recharge would be quite nice. A vicious smirk crossed his face as he signed the incident with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe off as a task that only a Prime could deal with – meaning much more paperwork for Prime. Ratchet put the stylus down and stretched slightly, wincing as a few gears in his back and shoulder girdle popped loudly. The sleeping youngling took no notice.

He peeked over at Starlight, a sleepy revv escaping from his engine. The little femme was sound asleep. Good. She'd stay that way for another half-joor or so, plenty of time for him to get in a few breems of recharge. The mech propped his feet up on the desk, leaning back against the wall. His optics shuttered themselves of their own accord, and Ratchet went into recharge. Starlight, however, was just waking up. She sat up, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her optics sought out the familiar red and white mass that she knew as Ratchet, but she came up short on that account.

She looked around the play pen – a thick blanket in one corner, a few stuffed animals in another corner, and an almost full energon bottle strewn on the floor. Starlight stood up, reaching for the release latch on the playpen. Ironhide had inadvertantly taught her how to escape from the pen, but he didn't know that he had done so. Starlight pushed the lever and the side of the pen swung outward gently. Starlight grabbed her blanket before crawling over to the edge of the pen. It took her a few breems to muster up the courage to swing her tiny legs over the edge and tumble to the floor.

Her lower lip components trembled slightly before she picked herself up off of the ground, deciding that finding Ratchet was a much better alternative to crying. Starlight wandered around to the other side of the desk, squeaking happily upon seeing Ratchet. The little femme gazed up at the recharging mech, wondering why he wasn't paying attention to her.

"Ratch," she squeaked out. The mech shuffled slightly but did not move. Starlight huffed quietly.

"Ratch," she said a bit louder. Ratchet grumbled quietly, muttering something. Starlight pouted and wondered how to wake him up. Finally, she settled on the best course of action…

"RATCHET," Starlight screamed as loudly as her vocal processors would allow. Ratchet scrabbled wildly to stand up but the chair slipped out from underneath him, resulting in both mech and chair sprawled out over the floor. As he fell, he yelled out a few unsavory words. The impact jarred him into silence. He shuttered his optics and counted for a bit before turning to the silver femme sitting on the ground. Starlight chirped happily and prodded Ratchet in the foreplate.

"Do it 'gain, Ratch!"

"No, Starlight. I will not fall out of my chair again. Now, what is it that you needed?"

Ratchet picked himself and his chair up off of the floor, righting the seat before the desk. Ratchet sat down, gazing down at Starlight, awaiting an answer. Starlight's amber optics gazed up at him for a few seconds before blinking.

"Nothing. Not sleepy anymore," she said sweetly, holding her hands up to Ratchet. He gazed back at her, wondering what she wanted. The blanket lay on the floor, forgotten.

"Up," she said simply, gesturing slightly with her hands.

"You want me to pick you up," he confirmed, one optic ridge rising slightly. Of all mechs on base, she wanted _him_ to pick her up? The femme nodded, her smile drooping slightly as Ratchet made no move to pick her up. Starlight's lower lip components began to waver dangerously, her optics glazing over with tears. Ratchet hurriedly picked her up, lest she begin crying – he was on his own taking care of her today. The femmes had taken the bigger younglings to play outside while she was left inside under his watchful optic. Starlight was too small to be playing outside without one-on-one attention. Nightshade had simply handed Ratchet the little femme and her supply bag and marched from the room, leaving behind her a bewildered mech and sligthly drooly youngling.

Digging through the bag, he found a datapad containing all of Starlight's favorite toys, songs, and learning topics, along with a short message that said he needed to learn how to interact with little ones, since he was expecting one of his own in the next year.

Currently, Ratchet was holding Starlight underneath her arms, holding her away from his body. Starlight whimpered quietly, her tiny legs kicking out. Ratchet tentatively cuddled her to his chest. Starlight squeaked happily upon having a solid surface to cling to, and she buried her face into Ratchet's chest plates. He groaned quietly as she latched onto him. If she was anything like the other younglings he had observed, she wasn't going to be letting him go any time soon. He let go of her and his theory was confirmed. It was as though Starlight had somehow welded to him.

Ratchet sighed.

It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

Ratchet was a very intelligent mech – in fact, he was considered one of the brightest students at the medical school. However, some things just didn't add up in his computing processor. The incident began when Starlight claimed that she was bored. Ratchet proceeded to hand her a holocube. Not knowing what to do with it, Starlight began chewing on the polymer casing, finding it soft and just the right consistency to nibble on happily.

Ratchet was stuck cleaning up the rejected contents of her fuel tanks when she accidentally swallowed a piece of the plastic. After that, he put her in her playpen, but she then threw a tamtrum. The irritated mech rummaged through one of the filing cabinets in the corner and pulled out a set of paints, thinking it would be great to expose the femme to different creative mediums. Sunstreaker had been knocked silly in a fight and had had the paints in a subspace pocket. Ratchet had merely forgotten to return them. Now he could put them to good use.

Then he proceeded to set Starlight down on the largest piece of paper that he could find and hand her the paints. Then he heard the emergency alarm go off out in the medical bay. His medical training took over and he forgot about the youngling and he disappeared into the medical bay. It was a false alarm involving Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, and one very disgruntled moose.

It was a little over five minutes later before he came back into the room. Starlight was no longer the pretty little silver and blue femme that she once was – now she was covered in lurid shades of green and pink. So was the rest of his office.

"Starlight, why are you covered in paint?"

"Star bored! Paint with me, Ratch!"

"No, Starlight. Bath time," Ratchet said, picking the youngling up and holding her as far away from his body that he could. Droplets of green and pink paint splattered onto the floor and he sighed heavily. He was going to have to clean this up by himself, too.

"No, I don't wanna bath! No! I like pink paint! NO!"

Starlight's shrieks grew to audio splitting levels as he approached the sink in the medical bay.

"Starlight, be quiet – AH!"

Starlight had sunk her tiny dental plates into the soft polymer that covered Ratchet's hand.

"Now you are definitely taking a bath, little femme – don't give me that look! See? Here's your rubber ducky," Ratchet said, squeezing the little creature. Starlight chirped unhappily at the water, giving Ratchet a malicious glare.

"No, don't wanna bath. NO NO NO!" The little femme started screaming her vocal processors out once she was set into the warm cleaning fluid. Then she started slapping at the fluid, sending it flying everywhere. Ratchet glared down at Starlight, determined not to lose their mini-staring contest. Starlight's lower lip components began to waver dangerously and fat tears rolled down the sides of her face. The tears dissolved the thin sheen of paint on her cheeks before splattering into the sink. Ratchet then took pity on the little femme.

"Starlight, you're all dirty. You're much prettier when you're silver and blue," Ratchet said gently, reaching for the scrubbing brush sitting in Starlight's bag. Starlight shook her head vehemently.

"I wanna be pink and green!"

"I thought you wanted to be just like Nightshade and Chromia," Ratchet said, slyly hiding the brush behind his back. Starlight nodded enthusiastically.

"I wanna be like Night and Chromie," Starlight said. She began to put her hand in her mouth but Ratchet pushed it down.

"No, don't put your hand in your mouth. You can't eat that paint, Starlight. It will make you sick again."

"Oh." Starlight then dunked her hand back under the water and giggled as the paint turned the water pink. Ratchet covered the scrubbing brush in his hand with a mild detergent, reaching for Starlight at the same time. He began gently scrubbing the youngling's back, dissolving the paint there. He was thankful for her relatively short attention span.

"Where Chromie and Night?"

"They're outside with the other younglings. Raise up your arm, Starlight."

"I wanna play outside, too, Ratch."

"I will take you outside if you take a bath," Ratchet said, raising one optical ridge at the femme. Starlight squealed happily, grabbing the brush from his hand.

"'kay, Ratch!"

Much to his amusement, the little femme began scrubbing her arms clumsily with the brush. He chuckled quietly, lending a hand to help her. She began laughing happily, slapping the surface of the water, splashing bubbles every where. Ratchet felt a smile threatening to emerge on his face plates. Starlight only giggled harder as he gently scrubbed her back with a rag, trying to get all of the paint off of her.

"We've got to get you nice and clean before Nightshade comes back, Starlight," Ratchet said, giving the femme the most serious look he could muster. Starlight stopped laughing and peered up at him.

"Why?"

"Because Nightshade said that we weren't going to get energon goodies if she came back and you were dirty," Ratchet said, nodding. Starlight's optics widened – _no energon candy?! _– and she squeaked. Ratchet almost burst into laughter when the little femme grabbed the cleaning solvent bottle and tried to open it. Ratchet helped her open the bottle and he watched as she scrubbed herself clean. He smirked slightly before hefting her from the sink.

"You were quite dirty, Starlight," Ratchet commented. Starlight didn't answer. She instead curled up against his chest, shuttering her optics. The little femme was in recharge within moments. Sighing quietly, Ratchet wrapped her up in a thick blanket and placed her under a heating vent.

He made his way over to the window and gazed outside. The femmes and younglings outside were colorful blobs on the green grass below if he didn't use his magnifying software. A dark blue smear of color broke away from the group, being chased by several of the smaller bits of color. He chuckled as he saw the younglings tackle Nightshade's legs, sending the femme onto the soft, springy grass face first.

Starlight chirped quietly in her sleep and he glanced over at her. Sudden melancholy hit him. His younger brother…his younger brother had been the exact same silver color as Starlight. He felt his optics burn slightly as memories flooded from his memory banks.

* * *

-_flashback-_

"_Your creator is in here, __little one," the attendant said, pushing open a large metal door. The youngling tottered down the hallway, frightened and lost. Where was papa? Then he saw the familiar green mech – his creator! The youngling chirped happily and began running on unsteady legs toward the mech. _

"_Ratchet! There you are, my little youngling! Come here and give me a hug," the mech said, scooping up Ratchet and holding him close. The mech pressed his foreplates against Ratchet's. The youngling almost went cross-optic trying to gaze back at his father._

"_You have a younger brother now, Ratchet," the mech said, placing a kiss on Ratchet's olfactory receptors. Ratchet giggled quietly and clapped his hands, pulling away from the mech._

"_I wanna see, I wanna see!"_

"_Shh, little one. Your mother is very, very tired. So is your little brother. You must keep very quiet," the older mech warned gently. Ratchet nodded seriously. He had been patiently awaiting the arrival of his sibling for many orns. His father pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside. The room within was white and pristine. The soft white of the room was broken only by the black femme sitting on a berth, holding a silver bundle to her chest._

"_Storm, bring Ratchet closer…he needs to bond with our little one, too," the femme said, smiling up at Ratchet and his father._

"_I'm not sure…he's too little."_

"_I'm not little! I'm a big mech," Ratchet squeaked out, frowning up at his father. Stormbringer only laughed, placing a second kiss on Ratchet's foreplate._

"_I'm certain that you are, little one. Here, sit beside your mother. And stay very still. The sparkling is still recharging."_

"'_kay," Ratchet said, crawling over beside his mother. He clambered into her lap, peering into the bundle she carried. The recharging sparkling was quite small, smaller than anything Ratchet had ever played with. He gently prodded the sparkling. Its optics came to life with a tiny whirr. _

"_What's his name," Ratchet asked._

"_For now, we will be calling him Flash," Daybreak responded, reaching up to gently caress the sparkling's head. Ratchet nodded._

"_Would you like to hold him," she prompted him. Ratchet nodded enthusiastically, holding his arms out._

"_No, no, Ratchet. Come and sit here," Stormbringer said, sitting close by his sparkmate and hefting Ratchet into his lap. Once Ratchet was settled, the sparkling was gently lowered into his arms._

"_Say hello, Flash," the femme cooed softly, stroking the side of the sparkling's helm. Bright blue optics came to life and Ratchet found himself completely enraptured by the youngling. The sparkling waved a tiny fist up at him, chirping curiously up at the new face._

"_Hi, Flash. I'm your big brother," Ratchet said quietly, taking the sparkling's hand in his own._

Three vorns later…

"_MOTHER! Streak's eating my holocubes! Make him stop," Ratchet wailed, doing his best to tug the holocube from the youngling. Streak laughed excitedly. Instead of clamping down on the cube, he clamped down on Ratchet's arm. His femme creator came running at the high pitched scream that erupted from the youngling on the carpet._

"_What is it, my little Ratchet? What's the matter?"_

"_IT BIT ME!"_

"_Now, now, Ratchet, Streak is your brother, not 'it'."_

"_He bit me!"_

"_Let me see. Ooh, that doesn't look good. I'll call your father down and we'll go to the clinic," she said, gently turning Ratchet's wrist over. He snuggled into his mother's chassis, demanding love and attention through their bond. She laughed quietly, holding him closer._

"_Of course I love you, my little sweetspark! Now, dry those tears and we'll get that looked at."_

_Flash gurgled from where he lay on the floor, staring up at his mother and brother upside down. Then he reached up both of his arms, chirping quietly. Ratchet recognized the noise that Flash used to speak to him – it was a kind of whirring noise._

"_Go 'way, Flash," Ratchet mumbled quietly, glaring down at the sparkling. Flash cocked his head quizzically before chirping again._

_When his mother scooped Flash into her other arm, Ratchet wriggled free, dropping onto the ground. Ratchet was upset. _He_ was with her first! Why did Streak always have to ruin everything?_

"_Ratchet, sweetspark, what is the matter?"_

"_I want you momma, I don't want Flash," Ratchet said stubbornly, batting the femme away. She gazed down at him curiously. _

"_I'm here, Ratchet. Why are you so upset, little one?"_

"_You never spend time with me any more. You're always with Flash."_

"_That isn't true, Ratchet. I am always with you, you know that," his mother began gently, but Ratchet interrupted her by vehemently shaking his head._

"_No! You don't let me recharge with you and dada anymore! You never take me to the park, you only take Flash!"_

"_Ratchet, calm down. Don't be so angry. Flash is your brother. You should love him," she said quietly, her optics full of hurt. Ratchet ignored the shimmering tears threatening to overflow her optics and he continued yelling. Flash watched on, frightened at the sudden anger that invaded his tiny spark. He was used to only love and happiness, not this new frightening emotion. He chirred quietly, clutching at his femme-creator tightly. Why was Big Brother acting so strangely?_

"_I don't want Flash! Send him back! I want you and dada back!"_

_Ratchet pushed his mother and younger brother from his spark. __His mother sniffled quietly, holding the sparkling in her arms to her chest._

"_Ratchet, you can't honestly mean that! He's your _brother_. You were both created from my spark and body. Your bond to your brother is special – don't speak of him like that," she said, anger starting to rise in her voice._

"_SEND HIM BACK! I don't like him! I don't want him!"_

"_Ratchet, how dare you raise your voice to your mother," came a low growl from the doorway. His father stood in the doorway, looming ominously over the youngling. Instead of quieting down, he turned his anger over to his mech creator._

"_I don't want Flash! He's stupid and he's annoying!"_

"_Ratchet!"_

_Before either of them could react, Ratchet had already run from the room. Ratchet disappeared into his room and crawled under his recharge berth. The youngling curled up and began crying, feeling nothing but guilt at having hurt his creators and sibling._

_It was a little over a half-joor later before Stormbringer came into the room. By then, Ratchet had cried himself dry. Now he was staring up at the bottom of his recharge berth miserably. Stormbringer peered under the bed, sighing heavily upon seeing Ratchet's curled up form._

"_Ratchet, it's time for you to come out now," he said gently._

"_No…I hurt momma and Flash…"_

"_Please come out, Ratchet."_

"_No, momma doesn't want me. She wants Flash," Ratchet said. There wasn't a trace of bitterness in his tone, only sadness and acceptance. Stormbringer jerked back in surprise._

"_Ratchet – "_

"_Are you and momma going to send me to the adoption center," Ratchet asked quietly, his optics full of fear. Stormbringer shook his head._

"_No, no, no, Ratchet, we would never do that! We _love_ you, sweetspark," Stormbringer said, reaching both hands to the youngling. Ratchet scooted further toward the wall, shaking his head._

"_No! You don't like me any more."_

"_Don't say things like that, Ratchet! Your mother and I love you very much," Stormbringer said gently, reaching out to Ratchet._

"_Then why do you spend all your time with Flash? You never take me to the learning center any more...you never take me to the park anymore, and you never let me recharge with you and momma, and you never play games with me –"_

"_That's enough of that, Ratchet. We just can't do all of the fun things we used to do with Flash. He's too small and he can get hurt easily," Stormbringer interrupted hastily, wincing as he realized that they _had_ neglected Ratchet._

"_He's just a dumb baby," Ratchet said, his nasal plates curling up in disgust._

"_No, he's too small to play games like you and me play. Mother is still carrying him – she can't take you out while she carries him. She doesn't have enough energy," Stormbringer said, lying down beside the berth and watching as his son turned away from him._

"_But…I miss my momma."_

"_I know you do, little one, I know you do. Now come here, Ratchet."_

_Ratchet stared at the wall beside him, wishing he could stay there for the rest of his life. Then he scooted out from underneath the bed, reaching up to his mech creator. Stormbringer held the youngling close to him, reassuring him through their bond._

"_Shh, little one. I know you're upset that we're spending a lot of time with Flash. You have to understand that he's your brother, too. You need to spend time with him. You have a bond with him, a special bond. You'll always have a bond with him. The bond that you and I, or you and your mother have will eventually become weak. Your bond with Flash will _always_ be strong. Please don't push him away, it makes him sad," Stormbringer said quietly, reassuring the youngling in his arms._

_Ratchet nodded quietly, holding onto his mech creator's neck as tightly as possible._

"_Now, you need to go downstairs and apologize to momma. She's very upset and hurt at the mean things you said."_

_Ratchet nodded once more. The mech carried Ratchet down the stairwell and into their commons room. His mother was sitting in one of the couches, sipping a cube of energon. Flash was recharging on the cushion beside her, his tiny fingers in his mouth. Stormbringer set Ratchet down on the ground. His mother rose to her feet but Ratchet had already crossed the room. He latched onto her legs, sobbing into her knee joints._

"_I'm sorry, momma, I didn't mean to hurt you or Flash," he said, his tiny fists wrapped around her legs. She looked up at Stormbringer with shock in her optics before gently prying him from her legs._

"_Come here, Ratchet. Dry your tears, shh. Sit with momma and you can tell me what was bothering you."_

_Ratchet nodded miserably before burying his head into her chest plate. He couldn't look at his mother. He was ashamed of what he did. He _deserved_ to be sent to the adoption center, he hurt Flash! He was supposed to protect Flash, not say mean things and take his toys. _

_His mother sat down, holding Ratchet close to her spark. She reached to him through their bond, sending him all the love that she could and he responded in the same manner. He felt a second consciousness tugging at his and he gazed at his brother, who'd just awakened._

"_Flash?"_

_The sparkling squeaked happily at his name._

"_I'm sorry I said those mean things. I don't know if you understand me, but…I'm sorry. I won't ever hurt you again. I'll be a good big brother," Ratchet vowed quietly, reaching a hand out to the sparkling. Flash eagerly latched onto Ratchet's hand, squeaking and chirping happily. His mother gazed down at them happily. Stormbringer knelt on the floor before the femme, holding her hand tightly. _

_Flash squeaked a few times, testing out his vocal modulators._

"_Rrra?"_

"_What was that, Flash?"_

"_Ttcht.."_

"_Stormbringer, he's trying to talk!"_

"_Chtt…raaa?"_

"_Go on, little one," Stormbringer said, clutching at the sparkling's other hand. Ratchet watched on, his optics wide with excitement. His mother leaned over the both of them, fairly glowing with happiness. The sparkling's face plates screwed up, as though he were thinking hard._

"_Wachet?"_

"_Storm…I think he said Ratchet's name."_

"_Wachet! Rrraatch?"_

"_Yes, go on, Flash, say it – 'Ra-chet'," Stormbringer urged quietly._

"_Ratch…Watchet?"_

_Daybreak and Stormbringer laughed happily._

"_Ratchet, he said your name!"_

"_Fwash," the sparkling said, pointing at himself._

"_Good, Flash, now who is that," Daybreak asked eagerly, pointing at Stormbringer._

"_Dada!"_

"_And who am I?"_

"_Momma!"_

"_And who is that?"_

"_Watchet! B-__bwother!"_

_-end flashback-_

* * *

Ratchet shook his cranial unit slightly, pushing away the sadness in his spark. It was true what Stormbringer had said. He and Flash shared a strong bond. From that moment on, Ratchet could not be seperated from his baby brother. Ratchet felt the gaping hole in his spark where his brother's prescence used to be. He lost his creators, yes, but since he was a mech, their bond eventually broke down to nothing more than a link. He and Flash were almost like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, except they couldn't share thoughts. Only emotions.

He felt a soft hand on his back and he whirled around. Nightshade stood before him.

"Oh! Nightshade!"

"You're upset," she said by way of greeting, pulling him into an embrace.

"I…remembered some things…I didn't mean to project it, Nightshade. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Ratchet. Those memories were truly beautiful," she said softly, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. Ratchet nodded slightly, pulling Nightshade as close as he could. He wrapped his presence around her spark, trying to initiate a sparkmerge program. She giggled quietly, feeling him tug at her spark suggestively.

"There's a _youngling_ in the room!"

"She's recharging! Besides, she doesn't know what we're doing," Ratchet purred quietly.

"Ratchet! Behave!"

"Is Ratchet being bad? Put him in the corner," Starlight mumbled sleepily, turning her bleary gaze over at the pair. Nightshade giggled at the look on Ratchet's face plates.

"Maybe I should put him in the corner!"

"No you won't, femme!"

Starlight giggled quietly and curled back up, initiating her recharge program once more. Nightshade watched on, a small smile on her face.

"Primus, Ratchet…we'll have one of our own doing that pretty soon," she said quietly, leaning into his embrace. Ratchet nodded, making a soft humming noise. He led her over to a window seat, pulling her into his lap. She purred contentedly as she leaned against him. The sun was starting to sink in the sky. The sky turned a myriad of different colors – splashes of indigo on the opposite horizon, dotted with the red pinpricks of airplanes, above them the sky was a deep, hazy reddish-gold, and the horizon turned a blazing yellow. Slowly the entire sky turned to indigo, then to black. The first stars began to twinkle to life above them. With them came a few gusts of cold air and a few weak snow flurries. Nightshade yawned quietly, covering her mouth components with one hand.

Ratchet pressed his lip components against the top of her head, resting his hand against her reproductive tank. He could barely feel it, but it was there. The spark she carried was still too small to be a well defined presence. All he could feel were a few weak fluttering pulses of energy which were interspersed with periods of rest. Nightshade pressed his hand into her reproductive tank.

"Can you feel it yet?"

"Just barely," Ratchet responded quietly, reaching his spark out to the one she carried. There was a tiny bit of something and he reached for it, but it disappeared before he could determine what it was.

"It's too small for that," she admonished gently, rubbing his hand.

"I know…I just want to feel our sparkling," he said dejectedly, resting his chin against her head. She hummed quietly.

"If you want to…I can try to uplink you to my sensory network," she said quietly.

"You can do that," Ratchet asked, surprised. He had never known that! Was it a femme thing? Thanks to the scarcity of available femmes back on Cybertron, a full study had never been conducted. Sure, they knew the basic parts – reproductive tank, spark-carrying chamber, and other gender-defining gizmos. The physical aspects and quite a few theories (including this one) were all known, yes. The only problem was that no femme was willing to even think about risking her sparkling's life to prove a theory. Ratchet felt his spark rise giddily – not only would he be able to properly greet his sparkling, he would receive priceless information!

Ratchet took the offered black cable eagerly, inserting it into the port on his wrist. He linked to her systems, sitting quietly until she had run the necessary programs.

_I can't guarantee that it will be a perfect rendition of what I feel, but I'll make it as close as possible,_ she sent via messaging. He responded with a note of understanding, preferring to use their bond.

**Spark-mate attempting to access sensory network. Continue?**

**Spark-mate has accessed sensory network and attempting to send data. Continue?**

**Download in progress…one breem…**

Ratchet sent the file directly to his sensory network module and then opened it. The change was instantaneous. He was a bit frightened by the new sensations and drew back. Nightshade responded by assuring him through their bond and pulling him forwards.

_You're in my sensory network, so take it easy! That hurts!_

He apologized profusely. Then he began exploring her network eagerly, taking different measurements and recording data. He went from data packet to data packet, peeking at everything that he came to. Soon, his temporary memory banks were filled to the brim and he sighed dejectedly, wistfully nudging at the next data packet. Nightshade sent him pure amusement.

_Have you forgotten what you're here for? And hurry up, the link's starting to break down._

He apologized gently and settled back as she guided him to the right data packet. She opened it and Ratchet immersed himself into what she felt. It was a bit odd. There was a presence pulsating in his abdomen – kind of warm, kind of tingly, and _alive_. It tickled him and he had to fight down the urge to laugh. The spark reached to him tentatively, knowing that the new presence was its sire. It didn't understand how but it reached to him. Shocked, Ratchet caressed the sparkling through the strange bond.

Nightshade watched, or rather 'sensed', her mate's actions and filled her bonds with pure happiness. The spark responded in the same manner. Awestruck, Ratchet continued to interact with the spark until a fuzzy message flickered across his vision.

**Link…breaki…own…**

Ratchet's optics came online with a whirr and he shook his cranial unit, confused. Nightshade gazed up at him expectantly. She almost squeaked in surprise when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She melted into the sensations, eagerly kissing him back. After a breem or so, he pulled away gently.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Nightshade. I'm honored," he said seriously, taking her hands in his. She nodded, a soft smile on her face.

"Just…don't get too excited. Little Spark is exhausted and it needs to rest for a while."

Ratchet nodded enthusiastically, ecstatic that she would allow him a second chance to interact with their sparkling. Normally, femmes wouldn't allow their mates to do as such. The males of their species were generally blunt and almost 'lumbered' around. Their presence, while beneficial to the growing sparkling, could have also harmed the little one. Most mechs didn't have the finesse that Ratchet had.

Though Nightshade trusted her mate with her life, she still had initiated a back up plan if something went wrong. The file would immediately reject Ratchet's codes from her systems and block him from attempting to try the bond again. Her life was inconsequential to the one she carried – most mechs didn't know just how deep a femme's devotion to her sparkling went.

Ratchet held her tightly, kissing the top of her head once more. They sat in silence, gazing up at the stars. They were distracted by a tiny noise and they both turned. Starlight was walking across the floor. Her footsteps were tiny pattering noises, barely audible. She reached up to Nightshade and Ratchet, begging to be held.

"Up?"

They missed the streak of light that crossed the horizon behind them.

The screen in the communications center fizzled to life. A light on the console began blinking rhythmically, clicking softly in the empty room. The message that began playing on the screen was static filled and barely decipherable.

"My…is…Emirate…ambassador…and…refug…Cybertron…three…cycles…soon!...Prime…thank you…."

The mech on the screen disappeared from view two seconds later. The noise from the static soon disappeared and the image was replaced by the autobot logo. The only thing different was the soft, rhythmic clicking and blinking of the red light.

The message wouldn't be discovered until late next morning.

* * *

Music: "Wait til I Get There" by Eric Durrance

Writing the part with Ratchet's little brother made me tear up a few times. All I can say is that you don't know what you've got til you've lost it...but...don't wait until that moment to realize that.

And the new guy? Ohohohoh, _YES_! We're getting to the ChromieXIronhide half of the chapter! Y'all have no idea how excited I am about the next chapter!


	32. In Which There is History

Chapter 32

(Chromia's Story)

Part ONE of TWO

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

**AN: I seem to be lying a lot lately. Forgive me? (The reason I'm even writing is because I've accepted that I'll probably get a 1 or less on the physics AP exam and I'm dedicating all of my time to Biology.) I thought I could post it as one biiiiig (and by biiiig I mean abso-fraggin'-lutely _monstrous _beast) chapter but then I realized that not even I would sit through twenty thousand words in one sitting. So, that being said, I chopped it up into two parts. Actually, there are 3 parts, but there is smut involved and I don't want that to detract from the actual story itself. So. If you want it, lemme know. It'll be in my LJ, like usual. Same old rules apply - if you're not 18, don't read it. Constructive criticism is always welcome as long as it isn't flaming. :)**

**Moving on. Expect part two by Sundayish. :) There are a few questions at the beginning which will be answered later on in the chapter, just an FYI.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chromia leaned into the wind, wrapping her arms around her frame. The night sky was brightly lit by thousands of stars, tiny pinpricks of ice cold light. The light blue femme scooted a bit further into the niche, fleeing from the frozen, whistling wind. Chromia shuttered her optics and let her head fall back onto the stone with a loud thunk. A million thoughts were whirling through her computing center, a maelstrom of memories long suppressed. Emirate was going to be making landfall within the next two days. Were those next two days her last as a free femme?

A loud clattering noise had Chromia leaping into a fighting stance, her reflexes honed by millennia on the battlefield.

"Gimme a hand, would you, Chromia," Nightshade grunted, holding her hand out to her friend. Chromia grabbed Nightshade's hand wordlessly and gave a hard tug, sending the femme onto her face. Nightshade ungracefully sank beside Chromia, landing on the cold ground with a loud clang and a yelp of pain. Chromia shot her an amused look before turning her optics back to the horizon.

"You shouldn't be out here, Nightshade," Chromia said, eyeing Nightshade's thin shell, "Your water lines are going to freeze _again_."

"I'll be fine as long as I'm not in the wind," the femme said, "And neither should you. Your joints are exposed to the cold…and you and I both know what Ratchet's like when he has to replace lubrication fluid."

"I won't tell if you won't," Chromia said, shooting her a grin.

"Whatever," Nightshade chirped, scooting close by Chromia, who had decided that Nightshade's shoulder was a headrest.

A few moments passed by in silence with them enjoying one another's company.

"What's the matter, Chromia," Nightshade asked softly. Chromia sighed heavily, burying her face into her hands.

"Just thinking," she whispered, shuttering her optics. Nightshade glanced at her friend, a small frown tugging at her lips.

"Don't hurt yourself," Nightshade quipped, smirking at her. The smirk soon disappeared when Chromia slugged her in the arm. Nightshade winced, fingering the small ding in her armor.

"That hurt, you fragger."

"I hope it did," Chromia shot back, a proud smile on her face. Nightshade rolled her optics and scooted closer to Chromia. Shivering slightly, she ran a discreet self-scan. The sparkling was glowing happily, ignorant of the cold. Good. Nightshade gently laid one arm across her abdomen and faced Chromia.

"Chromia…talk to me, please. I don't like seeing you so upset. I know…I know something happened with you and Ironhide…and that new mech."

"If I tell you our story, will you swear not to tell Ironhide that I told you?"

"I swear upon my honor as a medic," Nightshade answered seriously. Chromia nodded, taking a few moments to organize her thoughts.

"Well, it all started a few thousand years ago…"

* * *

_- begin flashback -_

"Chromia, isn't this banquet absolutely splendid?"

Chromia nodded, her bright blue optics wide in apprehension. Her femme-creator stood beside her. Their many orns of hard work finally paid off. Now, all they had to do was present their creation with her coming-of-age gift, and their little youngling would finally be considered an adult, ready to be bonded to a suitor.

"Yes, mother," Chromia said softly, bowing her head slightly, "it's beautiful."

The pearl-white femme beside her nodded crisply, pleased with Chromia's answer.

"I have duties to attend to. Your escort will be here shortly, so don't stray too far away."

"Of course, mother."

Alamantia disappeared into the crowd, fluttering from each group of well-wishers and potential suitors. Chromia glanced around the room discreetly, picking out her friends and their families. Her spark gave a soft flutter, tugging gently in her spark box. She gasped softly, her optics widening slightly. What was that strange feeling? She had heard her mother talking to her father about her spark…was her spark mate nearby? Chromia peered around the room eagerly.

"_The spark is blind to love and wealth, but we are not. You must uphold our traditions, even if your spark feels otherwise, my daughter…_"

The words hung in the air, a silent but potent reminder of her duties as a femme of the elite upper alpha class. Dejected, Chromia squashed the feeling in her chest before it could grow any further. She could not risk her future for a spark-bond – besides, any mech that she was promised to had full rights to her, even if she was bonded. Her fortune would belong to him and his family and she would be expected to carry _his _sparkling, not her spark-mate's. The fluttering grew stronger and she peered around the room. Boredom emanated from the other spark. She giggled quietly. Apparently, he did not know that he was projecting the feeling.

Chromia tentatively looked around the room. Everyone looked so happy, though! Who could be bored at the banquet? The finest high grade twinkled merrily in crystal flutes, energon truffles overflowed dishes, and lively music poured from the speakers! With a devious smirk on her face, she reached through the bond, watching anyone in the room for a reaction. It wasn't anyone in the room, she decided. She bit her lower lip, contemplating. Her escort would be here in a few breems…it couldn't hurt to take a look around, could it?

Chromia excused herself from her table and made her way to the hallway.

* * *

"Ironhide, what the slag's wrong with you?"

"Don't use that tone with me, fragger! Just felt somethin' funny."

"I told you not to eat all them truffles, Ironhide - "

The black mech shoved the smaller green one against the wall, ignoring his yell of protest. The smaller green one spouted off a few curses before regaining his balance.

"Hey! Hands off the paint!"

"Shut yer trap," Ironhide growled quietly, strolling down the pathway.

"Now what were you going on about?"

"Somethin' funny," Ironhide repeated, "Like someone's reachin' to my spark."

"Aww, wittle Ironhide's got him a sparkmate!"

"Quiet, before you scrub wash racks for the next vorn!"

The green mech snickered and batted his golden optics at Ironhide, flinging himself into the larger male's arms.

"Oh, Ironhide! You big, strong mech! Whisk me away," he cried out in a falsetto, throwing an arm dramatically over his optics. Ironhide growled and dropped the mech onto the cobblestones beneath.

"I'm going to deactivate you, Theta," Ironhide said moodily, alternating between reaching through the sparkbond and waiting for a reply. Theta only laughed.

"Why'd you sign us up for this gig, Ironhide? We could be guarding something more interesting, like the races down in Ilystrion."

"Offline your vocalizers. Compute?"

"No thanks," Theta said between snickers, "I like teasing you."

"_Theta…_"

"Wait – what's that up ahead? Those two mechs-!"

* * *

Chromia wandered out of a door, peering around the alley. The light above the door flickered slightly. She jumped slightly, her optics wide with fright. A few old high grade cans rolled down the narrow alley, clattering loudly over the uneven cobblestones. The tugging in her spark grew stronger and she frowned slightly. Was her sparkmate a cleaning drone? She snickered at that one – her mother would have a fit!

She turned to go back inside, but she was stopped by a large hand on her shoulder.

"Well, lookee here," a loud voice drawled out.

"What's a pretty little femme like you doin' out here by herself," a second voice called out, leering at her. Chromia shrugged the hand from her shoulder, reaching for the door release button. The mech spun her around, slamming her against the door.

"Ah, can't have you leavin'," the voice drawled out smoothly. A large grey hand gently caressed her cheek plate, trailing down her throat until it came to a rest on the strand of gems wrapped around her throat.

"What pretty little rocks," the second male said, reaching for the large stones.

"Wait an astrosecond…you're Neutro's daughter, ain't ya?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! Leave me alone," she cried out, struggling against the hands that held her captive.

"Oh, yes you do. I wonder what your father will pay to have his daughter delivered back to him," the first voice said. The grip on her arms tightened considerably.

"Oh, yes. You'll do just fine," the second voice said. Chromia tried to pull away but it was in vain.

"Let's have fun with her before we hold her for ransom," the second voice said, chuckling.

"I saw her first-"

Chromia's optics widened. She had been warned about males like these two…why hadn't she waited for her escort? She screamed as the larger of the two grabbed her.

* * *

Ironhide and Theta approached the bickering males. He could barely see the frightened blue femme held between the two.

"Oi, what's going on over there," Theta shouted, glaring at the two males. The blue femme's optics widened and she began struggling, crying out for help. Ironhide growled quietly, reaching for his weapon. The two males stopped arguing long enough to look over at the approaching guards.

"Back off. We got her first," the larger one snapped, sending them a disdainful look. Ironhide's optics narrowed. What were these two slagheaps thinking? No _real _mech would have to kidnap a femme.

"Let the femme go."

"No."

A rifle was aimed dead between the ringleader's optics.

"Let the femme go," Ironhide growled out, stepping out from the shadows. The mech's optics widened.

"Let's get out of here," the larger mech said, dropping Chromia to the cobblestones. The smaller one held his ground firmly, tugging her close to his body.

"Why the slag would we do that? We've got a gem in our hands! You're just gonna let her go like that?"

"I'd rather lose her than fight him," the larger said, shooting a wary look over at Ironhide, whose optics narrowed as he held the rifle a bit higher.

"Let. The. Femme. Go."

The two mechs started backing away. Chromia scampered toward the guards. Ironhide grabbed her arm and pulled her behind his body.

"Shutter yer optics, little lady. Don't want ya to see anything bad," he said gruffly and kindly before stunning both mechs with a well aimed stun pellet from his rifle. Chromia gasped as their bodies clattered to the ground.

"Theta, restrain them and deactivate their motor cables," Ironhide said, before turning to the cowering blue femme behind him.

"Now, what's yer name, little lady?"

"Ch-chromia," she whispered softly, ducking her face away from him. A gentle black hand raised her chin. Her optics met his.

"Don't be frightened. I'll take care of you," he said, "Now. Where are your creators?"

"They-they're inside."

"Their names?"

"Neutro and Alamantia," she confessed quietly, biting her lip as the mech's optics widened. He let out a low whistle.

"Primus…we need to get you inside now," he said, wrapping one large arm around her waist and guiding her back to the door, "You're safe with me."

* * *

"Chromia! You know I warned you about being by yourself! That's why we hired an escort for you! Do you have any explanation whatsoever for why you were almost forced to bond with that male?"

"I'm sorry, mother," Chromia said dejectedly, bowing her head. Guilt made her sick to her tanks. Alamantia sighed heavily when she realized that her creation was truly sorry for her actions.

"There's nothing we can do about the past. You're not to be alone at all. You're going to be with an escort at all times. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mother."

* * *

Chromia fingered the gems wrapped around her throat, sighing as she peered into the highly polished sheet of metal on her wall. Her reflection gazed back at her. A small frown decorated her face plates. She smiled at herself, trying her best to look happy for the party, but it didn't work. The smile slid into a frown before she could stop it. Tonight was yet another party…another social circle she needed to be accepted into…

Chromia rose from her seat and made her way to the reception room. She had duties to attend to – she couldn't afford to waste any more time. What if her suitor was waiting for her? She couldn't keep him or her creators waiting any longer.

* * *

The party was small, consisting her only a dozen or so others. Chromia lounged in her chair, pretending to be absorbed in the conversation going on around her. She smiled as she felt the tugging in her spark again. Her bond mate was somewhere nearby! Chromia sighed gently, her thoughts drifting. _I wonder what he looks like. Tall and strong…just like…just like Ironhide…_Chromia stopped her musing, her optics going wide. Did she really just think that? She could remember the feeling of absolute trust that she had felt when he arrived on scene…his gruff voice was comforting, protective even. A second small smile crossed her face plates. Was Ironhide her sparkmate? Soft heat rose in her face as she remembered just how nice it felt to have his hand wrapped around her waist -

"-hear a word I just said?"

"Pardon," Chromia said, turning her gaze to the orange femme beside her.

"Oh, Chromia. Were you dreaming about a mech," a sly voice asked. Chromia leveled a glare in the direction of the voice. A perky yellow femme gazed back at her, a smirk on her face plates.

"I was not," she shot back.

"Oh, she's embarrassed! Who is it, Chromia?"

"I am not dreaming about a mech!"

"Right," the silver femme in front of her said slowly, winking at the other femmes around the table. Chromia sighed and excused herself from the table, wandering about the room until she came to her creators.

"Father, mother," she said politely, once they had finished conversing. Alamantia gave her a soft smile, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder girdle.

"Chromia? We've found you a suitor."

Chromia's optics widened. Was she doomed to be nothing more than a trophy on some mech's arm? Mistaking Chromia's fear for joy, Alamantia wrapped her arms around her in a rare display of public affection. Chromia froze, shuttering her optics. So it _was _true what the femmes at her table had said. Neutro had finally found his daughter a mech to settle down with.

"He's right over there. He will be visiting in a few cycles."

Chromia nodded mutely, silent at her mother's declaration. The mech she presumed to be her suitor approached, his optics grazing over her body lecherously. She became sick to her tanks when she recognized him as one of her father's business partners. He brought her hand to his mouth components, purring out a greeting.

"I'm pleased to know that you've accepted my offer," the mech said, nodding toward Neutro, who nodded. The mech's optics roved over Chromia's body once more.

"Very pleased."

- _end flashback -_

* * *

"Is that where Emirate comes into play, Chromia?"

"Unfortunately..."

"He's the suitor mech? But...was the alliance severed completely?"

Chromia's downcast optics and silence answered Nightshade's question. Nightshade wrapped an arm around Chromia's waist, pulling the femme close to her.

"Oh, Chromia…he can't say anything, can he? I mean, those rules are _ancient_. Optimus is our Prime. He doesn't need the entire council to revoke that law, he only needs a majority of the thirteen," Nightshade said gently, stroking Chromia's shoulder. Chromia didn't speak. She only shrugged slightly.

"Nightshade, I know for a fact that Emirate is very…_influential_in his politics…The only way to revoke that law is if the new council is made up entirely of Prime's circle," Chromia said softly. Nightshade sighed.

"Wait a second…"

"What is it?"

"I think Ratchet knows more on the subject…you do remember that he was Prime's right hand mech before the war, right?"

"What are you talking – oh. Oh! Do you really think he'd…he'd do that for me," Chromia asked quietly, latching onto Nightshade's hands. Her bright blue optics were silently begging for an affirmation.

"Yes, he will, Chromia. He would never turn his back on anyone, especially on you and Ironhide," Nightshade said gently. Chromia choked slightly before throwing her arms around Nightshade's waist.

"Th-thank you, Nightshade."

* * *

-_start flashback-_

Chromia ended up leaving the party early, feigning weariness. She picked up a holocube and made her way into a seldom used room. The room was stuffy and hot, making her shell itch uncomfortably. Instead of using environmental controls to cool the room, she decided to open the bay doors and sit outside. The porch wrapped around the domicile, a perfect place to rest on the particularly hot days. Chromia sat on a bench and turned the holocube on and began reading the holographic spirals.

"What're ya reading?"

Chromia almost leapt out of her shell, whirling around. Ironhide was resting his massive forearms on the railing, leaning against the support struts. She cycled air through her systems before speaking.

"Oh, just studying for my astrophysics test tomorrow," she said nonchalantly, setting the cube down. Ironhide raised one optic ridge.

"I don't even know what that is."

"Oh, I'm sorry…"

"That's alright," he said gruffly, "And you're supposed to be inside."

"Wh-what do you know about that?!"

"I'm yer new escort, Chromia. Now get inside," he said, clambering over the railing and ushering the femme inside. Chromia protested weakly, cradling the fragile holocube to her chest. Ironhide shook his head, planting himself in the doorway. Chromia tried to go around him. One massive arm shot out, effectively blocking the doorway.

"But, it's _hot_ in here-"

"Turn the environmental controls on, then."

"I don't want to. I want to go outside –"

"Open a window. You can see outside then."

"But – "

"Your aft. Inside. Now. Compute?"

Chromia growled quietly. She was not used to having her will defied. She was just about to let Ironhide know _exactly _what was on her computing center when the door opened with a loud bang. She leaped slightly. Ironhide shot the door an unaffected look. _A_familiar mech entered the room without asking permission. Chromia bristled, opening her mouth components to let this new mech just how rude he was when he beat her to speaking.

"Ah, Chromia! There you are! And who are you," the mech said, turning his nasal plate up at the guard. Chromia's mouth plates snapped shut, shooting Ironhide an unreadable look. One optical ridge on Ironhide's face quirked slightly in amusement.

"The name's Ironhide. I'm her escort," Ironhide said, jerking his head in the femme's direction. Emirate's nasal plate curled in slight disgust before he turned his gaze over at Chromia. The femme was seated on a couch, studying the holo-cube in her hands. The mech reached over and took the cube from her, ignoring her protests.

"Advanced astrophysics? Pah. You don't need to be filling your computing center with silly things. Leave the science and mathematics to me. You need to be learning how to rear sparklings, Chromia," the mech said, tossing the cube onto the seat. Chromia's optics narrowed dangerously but Emirate did not notice.

"Now, come along. We're going on a walk," the mech said, grabbing her arm and tugging her out of her seat. She growled quietly, trying to pull out of his iron grip.

"Let go of me! You're hurting me!"

Ironhide acted immediately. He wrenched the mech's hand from Chromia's arm, twisting the limb up behind Emirate's back. Chromia whimpered quietly, rubbing at the small dents in her arm. A few vague crackling noises were heard from where Ironhide's massive fist trapped the other mech's hand.

"Keep yer hands to yourself," Ironhide rumbled ominously. Emirate snarled quietly.

"You keep _your _hands to yourself, commoner – "

"This is yer last warnin'," Ironhide growled.

"She's my intended and she'll do as I say," Emirate snapped. He continued, ignorant of the thunderous look growing on Chromia's face plates, "She has no right to tell _me_ what to do, I'm her lord and master –"

"You have no authority over her. I suggest you leave," Ironhide said pointedly, motioning toward the doorway. Emirate bristled at being interrupted, but wisely followed Ironhide's advice once the massive mech reached for his weapon. Ironhide waited until Emirate had disappeared before speaking to Chromia.

"You alright," Ironhide asked, turning his attention to the femme beside him. Startled, she turned her acidic glare from the doorway. At his concern, her face plates softened. Chromia nodded, letting air escape from her vents with a sigh.

"We're going to go and see your creators, Chromia. That fragger has no right to say those things to yah," he said gruffly, gently leading her toward the door. She nodded, allowing him to guide her back to the room where the celebration was held.

* * *

Neutro almost lost control when Ironhide relayed the story to him. The alliance was severed instantly. Unfortunately for Chromia, her creators severed the alliance temporarily, which meant that Emirate was still listed as her suitor. After the incident, Chromia and Ironhide became close friends. The fluttering in her spark ended up disappearing entirely. Chromia didn't know what was happening. Since she and Ironhide were so close, there was no need for their sparks to call to one another. Chromia knew that Ironhide was going to be in her future forever, even if they were only friends.

But then one day, all of that disappeared with a letter.

A letter from the Autobot Army.

* * *

"Chromia, I'm sorry. I have to go," Ironhide said gently, rubbing the femme's back. Chromia shook her head, wrapping her arms around his waist more tightly.

"Ironhide, I don't want you to leave, you're my best friend," she whispered, sniffling. Ironhide's massive chest rumbled quietly as he tried to soothe her.

"Chromia…I know you don't want me to leave. But I have to. I swore my allegiance to Optimus Prime…I swore to respond to a call of arms. I can't turn my back on him," Ironhide said as gently as he possibly could. Chromia nodded mutely, shuttering her optics. Her spark stirred slightly before flaring painfully at the mere thought of losing him. Brushing aside that strange fluttering, she turned a steady gaze up at him.

"Ironhide?"

"Yes, Chromia?"

"There's something I'd like you to see," she said quietly. He nodded, his optical ridges furrowing together. She took him by the hand and led him down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. His frown grew more pronounced. Where was she taking him? She pushed a pair of white doors open, revealing a very feminine room.

"This is my room," she said, shutting the doors behind her firmly. At the soft clunk of a lock engaging, he whirled around. Chromia stood a few feet away from him, her optics darkening. Ironhide backed away, wary of what she wanted.

"Chromia, what-"

He was silenced by her mouth on his, kissing him desperately. Ironhide's optics widened and he gently pushed her away. The femme frowned slightly.

"Chromia, we can't do this-"

"Yes, we can," she said quietly, "You're leaving and I might never see you again, Ironhide."

"Chromia, I can't do this," Ironhide protested weakly.

"Why?"

"I…I ah…"

"Then come here and make love to me before you leave…I don't know if I'll ever see you again," she said, motioning over to her berth. Alarms were going off in his computing center, warning him to walk away from the femme, begging him to reconsider what he was doing. However, his spark gave a mighty leap in its box, lunging toward the femme. Ironhide's optics widened even further- she was his spark mate!

Ignoring the warnings from his computing center, he obeyed his spark. Ironhide nodded quietly, advancing toward her. Chromia wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him down for another kiss. He thrust his glossa through her parted lips, caressing hers gently. He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers. Chromia overcame her shyness and began kissed him back just as fervently, pulling him towards her berth. Ironhide's hands roamed over her body, exploring each and every curve they came to.

* * *

A joor later found them in Chromia's personal bathing area, soaking in the large steaming tub of oil. Chromia's body was curled up in Ironhide's arms, her head resting against his shoulder. Her legs were strewn across his lap. His arm rested on her legs, his fingertips stroking her hip joint. Chromia reached up and captured his lips in a second kiss, deepening it when he offered no resistance -

She heard a soft knock at her door and she gasped quietly, pulling away from Ironhide.

"Chromia, are you in there? Why is your door locked?"

"Oh, mother, I'm sorry! I didn't realize that I locked it. Let me out of the bath and I'll be there immediately," she called out. She wrung her hands worriedly before gently shoving Ironhide out of the bath. She handed him a towel and pushed him into a storage unit. She slid the door shut, leaving a crack so that he could hear what was being said outside.

"Alright, dear," the femme called out, waiting patiently for the femme. Chromia wrapped a large piece of fabric around her body. Looking at her berth, she winced slightly. There were streaks of black and blue paint on the metallic surface. She bit her lower lip – if her mother saw those marks, she would know exactly what she had done and with whom. Chromia covered the berth with a few cushions, hoping that her mother wouldn't think to look underneath. She opened the door and stepped back, allowing her mother to step into the room. Chromia hoisted the thin fabric around her chassis, picking the trailing end up off of the floor.

"Where's Ironhide, Chromia? He's leaving in a few cycles," Alamantia said, noting that the mech-turned-fixture was missing. Chromia shrugged gently.

"I sent him to go and have a few minutes to himself…it must be difficult to fight," she said, taking a seat on her berth. Alamantia took a seat beside her, sighing gently.

"I know it's going to be hard for him to leave you, Chromia. I know you two have become close friends…that's why we've decided to bond you to Emirate, after all. He'll be by to collect you in a few cycles."

"What? Why?! He hurt me! You can't bond me to him!"

"Chromia, I knew you were going to react this way…there's a war starting – you can't be by yourself any more. You need a mech to protect you…binding him to you will ensure your safety. I'm sorry, Chromia, but my word is final. You're to be bonded to him in one orn. Begin packing your things."

"Mother, how could you do this to me," Chromia whispered quietly, turning a tearful gaze up at her creator. At Chromia's watery gaze, Alamantia's face plates hardened.

"You've known your entire life that your duty was to form an alliance between two houses. I grew up knowing the same exact thing. Know your duties and your place," Alamantia snapped, glaring at her daughter. The femme turned and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Chromia scampered into the bathroom, pulling Ironhide out of the storage unit. Wordlessly, she collapsed in his arms and began sobbing quietly.

"What's the matter, love?"

"I-I'm being bonded t-to Emirate!"

"No! Chromia, you can't be given to him!"

Ironhide wrapped his arms around her, his spark flaring painfully at the mere thought of Chromia with another mech. He buried his face into her neck plates, nuzzling her softly.

"Chromia…I won't let him hurt you again," Ironhide whispered against her audios, his grip on her tightening slightly. He remembered the pained look in her optics when Emirate had hurt her arm that day, the pleading look she had given him -

"Ironhide, I'm coming with you. I'm leaving," she finally said, wiping her optics and standing strong. Ironhide began protesting immediately, gently squeezing her shoulders, trying to make her see reason.

"Chromia, you can't, you're not trained to fight-"

"I can be trained to fight. The same way I was trained to pretend that everything in my life was fine the way it was. The same exact way," she said, glaring up at him. Ironhide finally relented, leaning his forehead against hers. The alarms in his computing center were going off again but he ignored them once more. The absolute agony of losing a spark-mate to another was enough to drive the most level-headed mech to rash decisions, and Ironhide was no exception especially since he was not level-headed to begin with.

"Chromia…if you leave with me, you'll never be able to come back here," he said softly, "I know you've grown up with all of your money. I can't provide that kind of life for you, Chromia, I just can't. I can't ask you to give up life as you know it for me."

"Ironhide, you're _my_ _spark mate. _I'll follow you to the ends of Cybertron if I need to. Money isn't an issue; we'll manage. I love you with my entire spark," Chromia said, gazing into her soon-to-be mate's optics. Ironhide nodded slowly.

"Chromia…I want you to be absolutely sure that this is what you want. I don't want you to regret coming with me," Ironhide said, gently stroking the side of her face with one thumb. Chromia nodded, pulling his frame to hers tightly.

"Ironhide…I would regret _not_coming with you. I couldn't live another day without you," Chromia said, shuttering her optics and leaning her head against his chest plates, "please…please let me come with you."

Ironhide sighed heavily, torn between what was best for Chromia and what he _thought_ was best for her. He ignored the sirens in his computing center and nodded.

"We're leaving in ten breems, Chromia. That'll give you enough time to write your creators a goodbye message," he said gruffly. Chromia smiled against his chest plates, her spark soaring.

* * *

Alamantia sighed heavily, leaning against the door of Chromia's bedroom. She prayed that Emirate would not think to look through Chromia's memory files. Alamantia had seen distinct patterns of activities that normally did not involve a guard and a young femme. There were very distinct bite marks on her neck as well as a small streak of black paint on her arm. She knew exactly what Chromia had done and with whom – not that she didn't approve, Ironhide was a fine specimen of a male – but Emirate would be enraged to know that his soon-to-be-mate was not as pure as he thought.

Sighing once more, Alamantia turned away from the door. She could hear their muffled voices past the door. She only prayed that Chromia would not do something stupid.

* * *

Ironhide held Chromia closer, wiping at the tears that streamed down the sides of her face with his thumb. He made a soft noise, soothing her the best he could.

"We're going to figure somethin' out, Chromia, don't you worry about a thing…"

They heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs and froze. A male's voice rang out, echoing slightly in the narrow corridor that led to Chromia's quarters.

"Chromia, love, open the door."

Chromia gagged at the sound of Emirate's voice. After a few seconds of trembling in fear, she stiffened suddenly and narrowed her optics, placing a finger over Ironhide's vocalizers and muting his growl of anger. She opened her bathing room door.

"Just a minute, I need to finish my bath," she called out sweetly. Ironhide shot her an incredulous look. She shook her head slightly, motioning him toward the window. His optics brightened in understanding.

"Hurry up. You've got five breems to finish."

"Very well," she called out. Five breems? That was hardly enough time to get to the station! She silently made her way into the room, sliding open a leg compartment. Her various jewels went into the space, followed by the credits scattered across her desk. Her coming-of-age necklace followed shortly. The other leg compartment was filled with various other valuables.

"What are you doing," Ironhide hissed quietly, watching the femme pack the compartments in her legs with valuables. She made a harsh motion with her hands, effectively silencing him.

"I'm securing our futures, Ironhide. Now wait just a fraggin' breem while I transfer my credits into another account," Chromia hissed quietly, shooing Ironhide away gently. Ironhide hovered anxiously.

"When your creators find out they'll hunt us down – they'll accuse us of _stealing –_"

"Ironhide, shut up! This account is in my name, we don't need to worry about a thing, so hush," she hissed once more, finalizing the transfer of money. Ironhide shuttered his optics.

"If you say so, Chromia. I believe you." Chromia nodded, taking him by the hand and leading him to the window.

"I've got a transportation unit waiting," the mech snapped irritably, tapping his foot against the floor and glancing up at a chronometer. Chromia silently waved at the window of the bathroom, peeking down at the ground. It wasn't too far of a drop. Only twenty or so feet, not much taller than she. Ironhide hefted a leg out, grunting softly. The rest of his bulk followed and he landed on the ground with an earth-shattering boom.

"What was that, Chromia?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Hurry up."

"Just a few more breems! I'm still trying to get the cleaning fluid out of my joints!"

"You have _five breems._Primus, you're going to need a vorn of obedience training," the mech sniffed disdainfully, crossing his arms over his chest plate. Chromia's optics narrowed at the statement – obedience training? The fragger had _no_idea who he was speaking to. A second loud sigh interrupted Chromia's computing center. It had conjured up some very interesting ways to tell Emirate to shove the idea of obedience training somewhere dark and normally accessible only by medics. Ironhide was making frantic motions up at the window.

"Are you ready yet, Chromia?"

Chromia had already lifted herself out of the window. Ironhide's hands around her waist gently guided her to the ground. The alley was darkened by the fading sunlight as they slipped silently down the path. They had just reached the end of the alley way when they heard angry shouts. Chromia froze – _"Where is she?! I was _promised_ that femme…going to regret leaving the moment I get my hands on her…" –_Ironhide grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him, trying to block the words. But the damage had already been done – Chromia froze, her optics wide in fear.

"Chromia, listen to me, we've _got to go_. He ain't gonna stop lookin' for you until you're with 'im."

She broke from her frightened stupor and nodded, squaring her shoulders. Ironhide admired her strength. The femme calmly took his hand and led him to the edge of the narrow path.

"We've got to go," she muttered quietly. Taking the main roads was out of the question – they would have to stick to the alleys. Chromia froze as the emergency systems activated. Bright blue screens flashed to life all around the plaza, showing a picture of her and a picture of her family. A thin, reedy voice began speaking monotonously.

"_This is a public announcement to all citizens of Iacon and surrounding estates – a young femme belonging to Neutro and Alamantia has gone missing, presumably an elopement. Any sightings of the femme should be reported to the family along with the proper law enforcement officials._

_She is about twenty units tall and iridescent blue in color. Last seen with a black mech…_

_Twenty __**billion **__credits for her safe return._

_Repeat: This is a public announcement to all citizens of Iacon…"_

The femmes and mechs gathered around the televised message murmured quietly.

"Wasn't she here just a breem ago?"

The crowd began murmuring. Some of the mechs and femmes nodded enthusiastically. One femme turned slightly and made optic contact with Chromia. Chromia froze in her tracks. The femme gazed back at her and opened her mouth plates to speak.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen Chromia. She's my best friend, I'd recognize her if she were here," the femme said, giving Chromia a slight nod. Chromia gave her a grateful smile and disappeared into the shadows, followed shortly by Ironhide.

That was the last time Chromia ever saw the femme.

* * *

Uh-oh! Cliffie!

2.54e123 thank you's out to everyone for their kind words for the previous chapters. I've done my best to answer all of the reviews I get, but there are some that I miss. (And yes, I'm a dork. I think the scientific notation kinda proves that!)

Inspiration? Why, yes!  
"When it Rains" - Paramour  
"Never Enough" - Epica  
"Poison" - Groove Coverage


	33. In Which There is History, Part Two

Chapter 33

AN: I know I said Sunday...

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee. No stealing because stealing is bad. :)

* * *

Ironhide managed to smuggle Chromia back onto the autobot base with relatively few problems, with the exception of the scene at the plaza. One glance at the femme and it was assumed that she was a doll. No one took a second look – any femmes escorted to the autobot base were presumed to be a consort. If they had taken a second glance, they would have noticed that the femme walked too proudly, too tall to be a consort. Ironhide gripped Chromia's hand tightly as they slinked down a hallway, headed toward Prime's office. Ironhide raised one massive fist and knocked on the door sharply.

"Come in," a male voice called from within, muffled heavily by the thick doors. Chromia shot Ironhide a nervous look, which he countered with a reassuring smile. He squeezed her hand gently, silently asking if she was ready. She nodded slightly, gathering her wits about her and squaring her shoulders. Ironhide and Chromia entered the room.

Optimus was sitting within. The room was pristine compared to the Prime's desk. Energon cubes were stacked haphazardly in one corner of the desk while the other end was weighed down by digipads, holocubes, and legal documents. Optimus sat in the middle of it all, cradling his computing center in his hands. One particularly complicated looking set of codes sat before him, glinting innocently in the harsh fluorescent lights. Deeming the task of deciphering the pad as too difficult, he looked up. He nodded to Ironhide, giving him a curious look. Something was hiding behind him…something blue.

"What is it that you need, Ironhide?"

Ironhide fumbled for a few seconds before speaking.

"I…ah…there was something…that I thought I should ask you."

Optimus nodded and motioned for Ironhide to continue.

"I don't mean to be impolite Ironhide, but you need to make this quick. I've got a meeting with Ratchet and the Council in less than a half joor," Prime said nonchalantly, flipping the digipad over on his desk. Chromia stepped forward, waiting for Prime to acknowledge her. He glanced up at her and dropped his gaze back down at his datapad. Then he realized just _who_ he had looked at and shot out of his seat. He moved so quickly that the teetering tower of energon cubes clattered to the floor loudly, the only noise in the otherwise silent room.

"Ironhide, what are you doing with her? She's been reported missing for cycles!"

"She told me she wanted to come with me," Ironhide said. It was more of a question than a statement. Chromia got the sudden image of Ironhide saying something along the lines of '_it followed me home, can I keep it'._ She wisely kept her vocalizers off at the look Optimus gave her.

"No, Ironhide, she needs to be returned – she has no place here. She won't be safe! What were you _thinking_? Oh, wait a breem, I _forgot_ – you _don't_ think, Ironhide! What the slag is the matter with you –"

"I want to ask for political asylum," she said loudly, halting Optimus in the middle of his rant. Ironhide winced slightly at the look that crossed Optimus's face – one of surprise, incredulousness, and shock. Prime looked over at her, a calculating look on his faceplates. She fidgeted slightly under his intense gaze.

"What?"

"I seek asylum. I swear to follow your every command and to fight for you," Chromia said, crossing her arms over her chest plate. The silence in the room was almost deafening. Ironhide opened his mouth to protest. Prime blinked just as Chromia began to speak.

"Shut your mouth, Ironhide. I'm not going to be a frail little femme any more. I refuse to allow anyone to take advantage of me."

Ironhide's mouth immediately snapped shut. Optimus gazed between the two and sank into his chair, motioning for them to do the same. He gave Chromia a kind smile, trying his best to break the news to her gently.

"Chromia, your family is very worried-"

"No, they're not worried that I'm missing! They're only worried that they won't be able to unite their house to Emirate's! I refuse to be bonded to the lecher!"

"Emirate? You _have_ to go back now, Chromia. He's the one funding our side of the war-"

"Sir, with all due respect," she snapped, "_I _can fund your war for you. I've got more credits in my spending account than he has in his entire fortune! Now will you grant me asylum or will I have to take my credits to a more understanding faction?"

Optimus sighed wearily at the thinly veiled threat and shook his cranial unit. Chromia's optics narrowed to slits.

"I don't think so, Chromia. Ironhide, take her back to her home."

"I can't do that, sir," Ironhide said softly. The look Ironhide received in response was nothing short of acidic.

"Ironhide, I believe I gave you a direct order."

"I'm not about to deliver my _bondmate_ to some other mech! Either you grant her asylum or I leave with her," Ironhide said. Optimus's optics narrowed further as he considered Ironhide's ultimatum.

"I'll see what I can do." Reaching over, he pressed a button on his desk. A speaker crackled to life. A rich feminine voice rang out over the communications line.

"Yes, Optimus?"

"Elita, would you please come to my office? We need to discuss something…"

"Of course," the same voice said, seductive and regal. Optimus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest plate.

"We will wait for Elita-One and we will discuss this further."

Chromia shifted daintily in her seat. She looked around the office, appraising the many tactical holocubes scattered across the bookshelves. There were a few cubes of poetry nestled between the books, hidden. A breem later, there was soft knocking on the door.

"Come in," Prime called out, folding his hands atop his desk.

The doors hissed open, sliding back into the frame. A tall dusky pink and ivory femme stood in the doorway, looking every bit the commander of the femme division. The femme's optics alighted on Chromia before they narrowed to slits. Elita crossed the room slowly, her gaze traveling over Chromia's frame. A slight smirk crossed her face as Elita drew level with Chromia. Elita gently grasped Chromia's chin, examining the blue femme in the harsh lights. When Chromia made no move to stand, Elita took a step back. Chromia held Elita's gaze almost defiantly, her optics narrowed slightly.

"And what do we have here? Chromia…now what could a pretty little femme like you be doing here," Elita said before taking a seat on the edge of Optimus's desk. Ironhide gave Optimus an unreadable look before shaking his head slightly, shocked at the femme's insubordination.

"Pretty little femmes like you should be at home, taking care of sparklings," Elita said quietly. Her voice hid the slightest tone of mocking. Chromia's optics narrowed further. She did not like this Commander at all.

"Elita, she wants political asylum," Optimus rumbled out softly. Not even Elita could hide her surprise at the statement. Her optics widened a mere fraction of an inch and she turned to look at Optimus. The air hummed with their unspoken conversation. After a few tense astroseconds, Elita turned her haughty gaze over to Chromia.

"Very well. I will _personally_ train you," Elita all but purred, getting to her feet. She flicked her wrist weakly, motioning Chromia to the door. Chromia bit down her anger and followed Elita to the doorway. Elita smirked. It seemed that Chromia was not used to being treated as less than royalty! Elita's smirk threatened to crack her face plates – she was going to have fun with this new batch of energon.

"Now come along and I will show you to your quarters. Optimus?"

"Dismissed, Elita and Chromia. Ironhide, sit."

"Yessir," Ironhide drawled out, shooting Chromia an apologetic look. Elita motioned for the doorway once more. Chromia stepped out of the room disdainfully, following at a sedate speed. Elita headed down one of the hallways, her stride quick and purposeful. Chromia stored away what she could, doing her best to remember this particular route. The hallways were all the same – long twisting passageways of gleaming silver and scuffed grey metal underfoot, branching off in sequenced intervals. Finally, after almost two breems of silence, Chromia tentatively decided to speak.

"Commander?" Chromia's nasal plates curled slightly. She did _not_ like this femme.

"Wipe that look off of your face plates, _soldier._"

"…Thank you for allowing me to stay-"

"Oh, don't thank me yet," the femme said lazily, opening yet another stainless steel door. Outside lay an expansive training field and ranges. Cold air gusted through the doorway. Chromia gazed around the training facility, her optics widening slightly.

"Welcome to Pit," Elita said, smirking over at the femme.

* * *

Wincing as she was slammed into the ground, Chromia mused on Elita's previous words. Elita had lied to her. This wasn't Pit…Pit was youngling's play compared to what she was being subjected to. Rising well before the first sun rose to run laps in the frigid cold for cycles. Obstacle courses that made her entire body ache for days afterwards. Slowly but surely, Chromia began to adjust to her life on the base. Orns went by – she became stronger and faster, quickly rising to the head of her class in both physical and educational standards. She felt something in her shoulder cuff rattle. Sharp pain lanced through her entire being.

"Get up and move, Chromia!"

Chromia leapt to her feet, running at the drone that had nearly off-lined her. She dove into the fray with little thought for her own safety. A hard kick to the cranial unit sent the drone reeling away. Chromia tensed and sank into a fighting stance, waiting for another drone. None other appeared. She wearily clutched at her injured shoulder, wincing as the pain blossomed into throbbing agony.

"Good job, Chromia. You've graduated the basics class," Elita said, nodding in approval. Elita then approached Chromia. She knew what was going to happen an astrosecond before it did – Elita never so much as spoke to her after training sessions, aside from barking another order. The rose-colored femme tensed for a second before leaping at her. Chromia ducked and rolled, knowing what her commander wanted. If Elita wanted to fight, then a fight she would get. Chromia vowed to not go down without inflicting pain on the femme that had put her through Pit.

Elita was merciless, faster than any drone Chromia had ever faced before in battle. Chromia hissed quietly, rolling away once more. She saw her chance and punched Elita in the abdominal tanks, sending the femme backwards onto her aft. Chromia leapt onto Elita, punching and scratching what she could. Elita gave a mighty heave, sending Chromia flying off of her chest. Chromia landed on the ground with a loud thud. Shaking the stars from her processors, Chromia immediately leapt to her feet, circling Elita warily.

Elita lunged for her. Chromia ducked under the femme's outstretched arms and rolled past her, easily jumping to her feet. Elita's movements were getting slow and jerky but Chromia knew better than to underestimate her commander. The femme was teasing her, waiting for her to lower her guard. Chromia pretended not to notice and continued fighting, even though her own limbs were growing heavy and weak. Elita leapt at her with a renewed vigor, noting Chromia's fatigue. Chromia, however, had one last trick hidden before she collapsed.

A powerful kick aimed at her commander's head knocked the femme to the ground. Chromia followed shortly. Alarms went off in her head –

**56 percent damage to left shoulder motor servos – medic required immediately – energon reserves…energon…reserves falling…switching to back up electrical cells…warn…warning…two cycles energy…remain!...**

**STASIS LOCK in ONE BREEM…**

**Shutting down…**

**Medic…required…**

**

* * *

**

It was a pleasant feeling to be in stasis lock. She was lost to her thoughts and spark. She could feel Ironhide reaching to her and she replied with a soft burst of love. Aimlessly drifting through her processors, she went through her sensor readings. Even though she had been knocked offline, her body had taken sensor readings for a joor afterwards. Elita had sent out a message requesting "a bit of assistance". Once the security guards had arrived, all Pit had broken loose. Some thought that the femmes had been ambushed and left to die. Then they realized that the two femmes had beaten the slag out of one another. They were _so_ in trouble.

She came crashing back into her body, wincing at the pain that laced through her body. Ah, someone had figured out her online codes. Her servos had been replaced – stiff newness made her entire arm ache. Two self-scans later, she managed to bring her optics online. A medic was by her side in an instant, a thunderous scowl on his face plates.

"What the slag were you thinking? Getting into a fight with your commanding officer…Primus, you're lucky you weren't deactivated," the grey mech said, scowling at her. She rolled her optics, ignoring the medic's squawk.

"She attacked me first. I defended myself," Chromia said shortly, turning an evil glare over at Elita, who sat in her berth. The medic looked over at Elita, who nodded briskly. The unnamed mech nodded and backed down.

"Very well, then. You two get to explain this to Prime," the medic said, sighing and turning away from Chromia.

"Fra-aag," Chromia muttered, sitting up slowly. She stretched the new gears and servos in her arm and winced at the tight newness.

"That was a good fight," Elita said nonchalantly, giving her a nod. Chromia smirked proudly.

"Thank you, ma'am," Chromia said quietly, bringing her legs up underneath her chin.

"If Optimus asks, we were sparring," Elita said, smiling over at the femme. Mischief glinted in her optic. Chromia nodded, smiling back at her commander.

* * *

"You two were sparring," Optimus stated, his optics narrowing at the two femmes sitting before his desk. Chromia nodded enthusiastically.

"And what prompted you to spar out on the training fields and not in a _sparring_ ring?"

"She needs to learn how to fight in all sorts of environments, Optimus," Elita said smoothly, cutting Chromia off.

"Don't give me that slag, Elita," Optimus rumbled out quietly, his optics narrowed in warning. Elita glared right back at him until he sat down. A sigh of air escaped his vents as he read over the reports from the guards and medic.

"Neither of you were wearing protective gear," Optimus said, crossing his arms over his massive chest plates.

"We didn't need it. We weren't really hitting each other," Chromia said, a small smile on her face. Elita barely held her snort back. The kick that Chromia had given her had somehow knocked her processor off line. Optimus stared at the light blue femme before shaking his cranial unit.

"You weren't really hitting one another," he repeated. He picked up a digital pad and flicked it across the table. It slid across the desk and stopped neatly at the corner. Elita picked it up and scanned over the glyphs. Oh, so they _had_ caused quite a bit of damage. Not only did they almost kill one another, they managed to destroy three training drones, a nearby training ring, and managed to hit a bystander with a null ray. Oops.

"Medical says that your processor was knocked off line. Four gears in your neck had to be replaced, along with half the armor there. Chromia, your entire shoulder apparatus had to be rebuilt. Your entire arm had to be rewired. Don't even get me started on how many dents we had to remove out of your shell, Chromia…and you're still going to tell me that the two of you weren't really hitting one another?"

Chromia and Elita both nodded, not looking once at one another. Optimus's engine growled quietly as he tried to decide what to do with the femmes.

"Elita, Chromia – the both of you are assigned to restocking the medical bay and armory for the next two orns. Elita, you will receive three days in the brig for the blatant endangerment of yourself and one of your lesser officers. Dismissed." The mech turned back to his work while Elita rose to her feet. Chromia stay put. After three astroseconds, Optimus turned his steely gaze over at Chromia. The femme held his gaze defiantly, narrowing her optics at him.

"I gave you a direct order, Chromia."

"Sir, I want three days in the brig, too," she said boldly, turning her nasal plates up at him.

"What?" Optimus and Elita were staring at her incredulously.

"I willingly endangered the life of my commanding officer. As stated in the Book of Codes, page 2554, paragraph 3 delta-"

"I know the Book of Codes – I _wrote_ the pit slagging thing myself," Optimus interrupted irritably, "Fine. You want punishment? _Fine._ You'll be joining Elita in her confinement. _Dismissed_."

"Yessir," Chromia said, smartly saluting Optimus and getting to her feet. She trailed after Elita, noting the curious look the commander shot her.

"That was incredibly stupid, you know," Elita said nonchalantly.

"What was, ma'am?"

"Defying Optimus like that. He is not a mech to disobey."

"With all due respect, ma'am, but I honestly don't give a lug nut. Stocking the medical bay is punishment enough. Putting just you in the brig isn't fair – I should be in there, too. I kicked you, so I should be there even longer, in any case."

Elita laughed quietly. The soft noise startled Chromia.

"Don't let Optimus hear you talking like that. We'll both be in trouble," the femme said, turning a mischievous glance in Chromia's direction.

"Then I suppose I should familiarize myself with the route to the brig."

Another soft titter from Elita.

"I think we'll both have to."

* * *

Her vorn as a rookie ended rather spectacularly with the graduation of her class. She was promoted to a minor sergeant. Her intense dedication and discipline made her one of the most requested femmes on the base, but Elita kept Chromia, instead sending other femmes to those platoons. Through the vorns of exhausting work, watching their teammates die, and the attempted genocide on the femme half of the race, the two grew closer and closer together, becoming sisters and more.

Thanks to her hectic schedule, she had only been able to see Ironhide a total of four times during that long vorn, and only for a few breems each time. She learned that he had been promoted to work alongside Prime as weapons specialist, a coveted honor.

Chromia proudly stood in the middle of the room along with her other rookie graduates, relishing in the attention. Then she saw a familiar bulk in the back of the room, trying to find a seat. Chromia gasped quietly, her spark almost leaping from its casing. _Ironhide…_

Elita shot her a smirk, knowing fully well why the femme was suddenly so agitated.

"My graduation gift to you," she said softly, shuttering one optic in a wink. Chromia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get to her soon-to-be-spark-mate. Elita clapped one hand on her shoulder.

"At ease, soldier," she said, hiding a smile. Chromia nodded. Her spark was soaring, it was begging to be joined with Ironhide's spark, twisting and roiling in its case. She let out a soft, excited whine, wishing that the banquet was over so that she could find Ironhide and _show_ him how much she had missed him. Ironhide shot her a smirk across the room, knowing _exactly _what she was thinking. A soft brushing against her spark was Ironhide's own calling to hers. She could feel him agreeing with her, sending a few snaking tendrils of pleasure to her. Chromia's optics widened and she glared at Ironhide, who shot her a smirk and a wink. So the fragger wanted to play…

She smirked suddenly. She barged into their weak bond, flooding his end with images of what exactly she was going to do to him tonight. He stiffened in his seat, glaring at her as one of the mechs beside him asked him if he was feeling alright. Ironhide replied in the same manner but more deliciously, the energy snaking through her entire body. She shook slightly, trembling at the deluge of pleasure.

"Chromia, you're shaking. Are you alright?"

"F-fine. Ironhide's misbehaving," she whispered quietly, bringing a firewall up around her spark box. Ironhide sent her a dejected pout when he realized that he was no longer making the femme tremble. Elita's optics widened at the comment, heat rising in her cheek plates at the suggestive statement. Chromia snorted at the scandalized look on Elita's face.

And so began their beautiful relationship.

* * *

_Five vorns later…_

Elita sighed irritably and turned onto her side, drawing her legs up to her chest. A particularly loud thump made her scrabble for a cushion, pulling it over her auditory receptor. It was a little over three breems later before the noises subsided and Elita was free to remove the cushion. As she succumbed to the warmth of recharge, the noises began again…with a renewed vigor. A strangled shriek of anger erupted from her vocal processors as she finally snapped. The lack of recharge had finally gotten to her.

Flinging aside the cushion, she walked up to the wall and delivered a powerful kick, screeching about their damnation and what she was going to do if Chromia and Ironhide did not keep the volume of their activities down. The noises suddenly stopped. Elita struggled to reign in her anger, her intakes heaving with exertion. A breem of silence passed by. Elita picked up her cushion and made her way back to her berth, purring happily as she lay down on the berth. She was almost in recharge, floating in and out of delicious unconsciousness when suddenly -

_**BOOM**_.

Her optics slammed open and Elita leapt to her feet. She could barely hear the giggles from Chromia. Suddenly, the femme let out a low, erotic moan, crying out Ironhide's name. With one optic wincing, Elita let out a scream of anger. The scream of anger turned to a few creative suggestions for a cleaning brush when she saw the text she received from Chromia.

**Don't be jealous!! Go find yourself a mech!**

Elita stormed from her room, making sure to slam the door as hard as she could. The door bounced out of the frame defiantly, sliding back across the open doorway. She merely glared at the door, hefting her cushions in her arms. Now, who could she bunk with?

* * *

Optimus was rudely brought out of recharge by loud rapping on his door. He flung it open, growling quietly. His optics widened at the haggard femme standing before him. Ignoring his slack jawed stare, Elita stepped past him and into his living quarters, flinging her cushions onto the couch. She followed shortly, landing with a loud thud and creaking of weakened metal supports.

"Elita? Wh-what are you _doing_? This isn't proper!"

"Chromia and Ironhide."

"Ah."

* * *

"That's about it, Nightshade. Emirate found out that I was with the autobots about two vorns later and cut off funding. He left the planet not long afterwards," Chromia said, stretching back against the stone wall. Nightshade nodded understandingly, patting Chromia's knee.

"Why did he leave?"

"Who knows? The fragger owned half of Iacon and was getting started on buying out some of our trading outposts. Once the war started, he withdrew all of his credits and sent Iacon's lower levels into a depression," Chromia said, rolling over onto her side to face Nightshade. The moon was starting to descend into the horizon. It was only then that Nightshade realized just how late – or early in the morning – it was. She checked her chronometer, wincing at the time. It was about four in the morning.

"Chromia, we need to get back inside…Ratchet's panicking because he thinks he did something wrong," Nightshade said, a note of amusement in her voice. Chromia laughed heartily, shaking her head.

"You've got him…what is the term…"

"What are you talking about, Chromia?"

"I do believe you have him whipped."

* * *

:D

Grah. Too long. My brain hurts. :(

Up next: Ironhide's Story


	34. In Which There is Ironhide

Chapter 34:

In Which There is Ironhide

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Carrying belongs to the awesome Litahatchee. No stealing because stealing is _bad_.

* * *

Nightshade aimlessly wandered through the hallways, drifting along like a feather in the wind. Her thoughts were focused solely on the tiny spark in her carrying tanks. It was so tiny! Had it already developed consciousness? Or was it still forming? She couldn't tell yet! She could feel the happiness that occasionally flared from Ratchet's end of the bond – it seemed that he was taking to becoming a creator quite well. He had even started asking what she had planned for a nursery and what he could do to help. At that, she had giggled and gently reminded him that they still had another two orns until the sparkling could be classified as mech or femme. Then they would have to wait two more orns until the sparkling was brought on line. Ratchet drooped visibly, nodding sadly and putting his well thought out plans away. Nightshade felt a twinge of guilt in her spark at the memory of the smile slowly disappearing from his face. Sighing guiltily, she pushed open the doors to the nursery. The room was unnaturally quiet – normally it was at an audio-splitting loudness, but he younglings were all sound asleep, nestled into their tiny berths. Epsilon gave her a quick smile.

"They were just put to bed," Epsilon whispered quietly. Nightshade nodded approvingly, not really listening as a radiant smile crossed her face. Epsilon cast a curious look in her direction.

"You're very happy today, sergeant-"

"Please just call me Nightshade, Epsilon, or must I call you assistant officer Epsilon?"

"Sorry, I kind of forgot…but back on track. You're very happy today," Epsilon said, giving Nightshade a teasing smile.

"I'm just in a good mood," Nightshade replied softly, a knowing smile crossing her face plates. Epsilon gave her a second curious look before glancing at the door.

"Oh! You're dismissed, Epsilon. Enjoy the rest of your day off," Nightshade said kindly, watching as the little femme brightened and scampered from the room, giving her a quick wave. Nightshade wandered around the room for a few breems. Each recharging youngling was covered in a thick blanket. Nightshade delicately pushed the protective cover on the bookcase back, smiling at the fond memory that arose from the simple action. Rose, the mischievous ringleader of the group, had almost hurt herself when she tried to get to the candied energon. As a result of her minor injuries, Chromia had insisted on covering the shelves so that the little femme could not climb them any more. Rose was not a happy youngling when she realized that she could no longer climb the bookcase.

Nightshade sat down on the bench and took the holocube from its casing. She began reading quietly. Every now and then she looked up, watching over the recharging younglings. The door opened quietly and in came Chromia, who looked irritated at something. Chromia seemed to be irritated more and more often nowadays.

"What're you doing here?"

"Elita dismissed me early," Chromia said quietly, gazing at the sleeping younglings. Nightshade quirked an optical ridge up at Chromia. There was something _odd_about Chromia - something familiar. Chromia noticed the calculating look on Nightshade's face plates.

"What?"

"Are you alright, Chromia?"

"Yes…why do you ask?"

"…Never mind. You seem a bit off today," Nightshade said, shrugging.

"Nightshade, your energy reserves are a bit low. Go and get some energon," Chromia said worriedly, taking note of Nightshade's dim optics.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, now get, before I call Ratchet down here," Chromia threatened, shaking a finger in Nightshade's direction. Nightshade pouted and stood up, making her way to the door. Chromia rolled her optics before leaning back in the seat. The silly femme really did need to make sure she refueled on time.

* * *

Nightshade wandered around the base slowly, not really wanting to go to the rec room or back to the apartment. She began musing quietly. Something was up with Chromia. It wasn't Emirate or else she would have said something. Nightshade frowned, thinking. What had changed in the femme? She was the same _physically_, but there was something off about that, too. What could it be? Nightshade leaned against the wall outside of the med bay, wincing as she heard Ratchet bellow. Maybe she would wait a few breems before she went in…

After the yelling subsided, Nightshade pushed the doors open. Ratchet was sitting on one of the counters, serenely reading a holocube. She gave him a curious look before speaking.

"I heard yelling," she stated, giving Ratchet a disapproving stare. Really, the mech knew better! She had told him off time and time again, but he still kept yelling! Yelling never solved anything. Throwing things did. Nightshade had recently discovered the secret amusement that came with holding a particularly heavy welder in her hand and making motions to throw it - Sunstreaker had all but fallen over himself trying to get away from her!

"Of course not, love! I would _never_yell at a patient. Ironhide and I were having a…discussion," he said, setting the cube down on the counter. Nightshade quirked one optical ridge at him before sliding into the room and shutting the door behind her.

"Discussing _what_?"

"No can do, Nightshade. Patient-physician confidentiality," Ratchet said, picking the cube back up. He ignored Nightshade's incredulous look.

"Ratchet. I _work_ here. I'm training to _be_ a physician. I _count," _she said, her voice starting to get angry.

"Maybe later," he said quietly, watching as Ironhide emerged from one of the recovery rooms. The mech skulked out of the medical bay, not even saying goodbye to either of them. Nightshade raised one optic ridge in Ratchet's direction again.

"Does it have anything to do with why Chromia is acting funny?"

"I didn't realize she _was_ acting funny. What is she presenting?"

"She's acting strangely – wait a second! Don't change the subject! What's eating Ironhide's circuits, Ratchet?"

"Well…not a word. I will tell you tonight when we're alone."

"That's fine by me," Nightshade said, standing beside him, "And I'll tell you what's wrong with Chromia. Deal?"

"Deal," Ratchet said, shaking his mate's hand. Red Alert poked his head into the room, giving them a suspicious glance.

"Are we alone," he asked quietly, glancing around the room. Ratchet nodded while Nightshade stifled a giggle.

"Yes, we are, Red," Ratchet said, motioning the mech into the surgical room. Red Alert grinned suddenly, hefting a pile of digipads in his arms. Then he dropped them onto the table, organizing them slightly. Nightshade and Ratchet shared a slightly frightened glance before edging toward the mumbling assistant.

"Alrighty then! I've dug out the plans for sparklings' bodies – here's an alpha class. Look at the adorable horns, Nightshade," Red Alert said, digging a large stack of datapads out of the box. Nightshade picked it up and glanced over it.

"I don't think so, Red, I don't like the horns –"

"How about these two? You can select what you like," Red Alert said excitedly. Ratchet quietly began to tiptoe out of the room. He was almost at the door when –

"Ratchet, get your red arse back over here, _now_," Nightshade snapped, glancing up from the datapad she was looking at. Red Alert shrugged at him. Ratchet slunk back over to Nightshade's side. He dropped into the seat and watched as Nightshade and Red Alert discussed details.

"How about orange with scarlet accents, Nightshade?"

"No, I don't really like that shade of orange – how about this grey and that purple?"

"That looks lovely, but is it a mech or femme?"

"Oh, I guess we'll just settle on a body design today…how about this one, Ratchet," Nightshade asked, waving the digipad in Ratchet's face. He reached for it but she whisked it away before he could even see it.

"No, not that one…too big…how about this one?" Ratchet reached for the digipad once more and was met with the same results. Nightshade changed her mind and grabbed another. Red Alert shot him an apologetic glance.

"Nightshade, how about these two," Ratchet asked, holding up a pair of color chips.

"Well, if you want to make our sparkling look like the rejected contents of a human fuel tank," Nightshade snipped, glaring at the green and yellow combination Ratchet had pulled out of the stack for her. He wilted slightly before pushing the color chips under the stack. Red Alert winced out of sympathy for Ratchet. The poor mech was going to have his hands full until she delivered. Nightshade and Red Alert continued discussing the colors and possible bodies. Ratchet wisely kept his vocal modulator off.

"Well, are you going to contribute anything or are you going to sit there and take up space," Nightshade said, shooting him a glare. Ratchet had almost forgotten how irritable carrying femmes got when they approached their last few weeks. He slouched even more, nodding as he dug through the piles. He found one and immediately stuffed it underneath all of the other digipads. Nightshade grabbed it and squealed as soon as she saw it.

"How adorable, Ratchet! I like this one! If we have a mech, this'll be the design," she said, squealing happily. Red Alert took the pad and snorted quietly before nodding vigorously.

"You're quite right, Nightshade! Instead of the standard red and white, use a few different colors. Your little sparkling will be so handsome when he grows up," Red Alert said seriously, nodding at the femme. Ratchet growled quietly. He had hidden this one for a reason! He didn't want his sparkling to look like that! Frag!

* * *

Chromia sighed softly, leaning against the wall. It was still silent in the room. Slouching in the seat, she turned on Nightshade's previously discarded holocube and began to read. She rolled her optics. It figured that Nightshade was reading about space phenomena. Chromia drew her legs up onto the bench and began reading in earnest. So engrossed was she in the cube that she did not notice one of the younglings stirring.

"Chromie?"

Chromia put her holocube down, gazing around for the source of the small voice. Starlight was standing beside her, silently gazing up at her. Chromia smiled down at her.

"You're up early from your nap," Chromia said teasingly, picking up Starlight and setting her in her lap. Starlight chirped happily, curling up against Chromia's chest plate.

"Read to me, please?"

"Of course, Starlight," Chromia said softly, turning the holocube on, "it's about outer space and the stars and nebulas."

Starlight nodded, pretending she understood what Chromia had just said. Smiling slightly, Chromia began reading quietly.

"Nebulas are massive clouds of dust, hydrogen gas, and plasma. This picture is of the Eagle nebula. It's very, very far away," Chromia said softly, tracing the sweeping lines of the picture. Starlight watched on, her optics wide and curious. She reached into the light display, giggling when the patterns swirled around her hand like water in a drain. The sparkles of light flickered before returning to their rightful place. Chromia smiled at her antics. Starlight reached for the picture once more, but Chromia gently pushed her hand down.

"No, sweetspark. You'll destroy the matter particles and we'll have to get it replaced," Chromia said gently. Starlight nodded sheepishly. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the flickers of light dancing in the air like fireflies.

"It's almost as pretty as you, Chromia," the little femme said, curling up against her once more. Chromia smiled down at Starlight, gently stroking her helm.

"You are too sweet, Starlight," Chromia said softly. Starlight yawned, squeaking slightly, before resting her head against Chromia.

"Chromie?"

"Yes, Starlight?"

"I love you," the tiny silver femme said, curling up even more tightly. Chromia felt her resolve weaken at the large amber optics that gazed up at her. Before she could stop them, the words slipped from her vocal processors. She had broken the first and most important rule of a caretaker. She was never to form an attachment so strong with the younglings - if they were adopted, she could go become very depressed. Looking down at the joyous amber optics, Chromia shooed away the thoughts. Nothing like that would happen while Starlight remained on the base.

"I love you too, Starlight."

Starlight squeaked happily and clutched Chromia's hand in both of hers, resting her little head against Chromia's abdominal ridging. Starlight frowned slightly before glancing up at her caretaker.

"Chromie?"

"Yes," Chromia asked softly. Starlight peered back up at her, splaying her tiny hands across Chromia's abdomen. Starlight was suddenly engrossed with her hands, gently tracing the sheets of metal. Chromia took no notice of the youngling's actions and stared out of the window, reminiscing on old memories. Starlight suddenly and loudly squeaked, startling Chromia from her musing with the happy noise.

"What is it, Starlight?"

"Chromie, you just like Nightshade," she said. Chromia raised one optical ridge in confusion. How was she anything like Nightshade? Nightshade was too innocent to be compared to her! Nor were their paint colors the same - well, she could understand if Starlight mistook them for one another, their colors were the same intensity. Their voices weren't anything alike, either! Nightshade's voice was higher pitched and more youthful while hers was lower and more sensual.

"I don't understand, sweetspark."

"You _different._Like Nightshade," Starlight elaborated, pressing a bit harder into the femme's abdomen. Irritated, Chromia gently batted her hands from her sore middle. Starlight stuck her hand into her mouth, gazing up at Chromia expectantly. Chromia shook her head slightly, unable to comprehend where the conversation was going. Starlight rolled her optics before pouting.

"I…I still don't understand, sweetie," Chromia said. Starlight used her free hand to touch Chromia's abdomen once more.

"You different here. Nightshade different too. Not like Epsilon or Beta. You and Nightshade different."

Chromia placed her hand gently over her abdomen. Her optics widened and she gasped as she felt the familiar, telltale fluttering beneath her fingertips.

"No…"

* * *

Chromia hurried down the hallways toward the medical bay. Her thoughts were whirling – _was she carrying what was Ironhide going to say what was he going to do - _and she could barely keep her energon down with how anxious and sick she felt. Her spark was twisting anxiously but at the same time flaring happily, wanting to finally welcome a little one into the world.

She pushed the doors open and entered, gazing around the sterile room. Nightshade turned and a smile crossed her face plates. This was the first time she didn't have to drag Chromia into the medical bay for a check up! Nightshade paused. Why would Chromia be here _willingly_? And why were the younglings alone?!

"Hello, Chromia. What do you need? Who's watching the younglings?"

"Elita, but..."

Chromia whispered quietly into the femme's auditory receptor. Nightshade's optics widened and she nodded. Ratchet watched curiously from his office. He felt sudden worry and unease emanating from Nightshade's half of the bond. He gave her a questioning nudge and was rewarded with a short message telling him not to worry. She could take care of Chromia. Nightshade checked Chromia into one of the recovery rooms, telling her to wait while she retrieved the proper equipment. Nightshade hurried back into the room. Nightshade gently led Chromia over to one of the berths, motioning for her to sit. Chromia sat down, her legs dangling over the edge. Nightshade wordlessly began to scan the femme's carrying tanks. The machine beeped quietly and Nightshade set it down on the counter.

"It'll take a few minutes, Chromia," Nightshade said quietly, watching as the femme got to her feet and began to irritably pace the length of the room. Five long minutes dragged by slowly. Chromia grew more and more agitated, sighing heavily as she looked at the machine repeatedly. The machine beeped quietly and Chromia sat down on the berth. Her knee joints were suddenly weak. Nightshade picked up the machine and began reading. Her spark flared happily as she read the confirmation of Chromia's conception.

"It's confirmed, Chromia," Nightshade said excitedly, putting the scanner back down on the counter. Nightshade grinned radiantly – now her little sparkling would have a play mate! Now all they had to do was convince Optimus and Elita to get their afts in motion -

"…what," Chromia asked quietly, her optics wide with some emotion Nightshade could not name. Mistaking it for happiness, Nightshade threw her arms around Chromia's neck, hugging her tightly.

"You're carrying and you're at least four orns along. I can't even begin to congratulate you, Chromia!"

"No…"

Nightshade pulled away gently when she realized that Chromia was very unhappy. She quietly began crying, burying her face into her hands. Nightshade stroked her shoulder gently, confused out of her processes. When Chromia showed no sign of stopping, Nightshade sat on the bench beside her and pulled her into an embrace. Her thoughts were whirling – what was going on? Why would Chromia be so upset over finally achieving what she wanted most? Nightshade instinctively reached her spark towards Chromia's, soothing her the best she could through their femme-bond.

"Chromia," Nightshade began gently, "I thought you wanted a sparkling."

Chromia nodded. Nightshade cocked her head quizzically, unable to understand what was happening.

"Then…why are you so upset, Chromia?"

"Ironhide _doesn't want_a sparkling," Chromia said, breaking away from Nightshade.

"Wh-what? Why? Chromia, shh, come here," Nightshade said, wrapping her arms around the sobbing femme. What did she mean?

"Please don't tell him, Nightshade…I'm _begging_ you."

"I won't say a word, Chromia," Nightshade said quietly, stroking her back. Nightshade was numb – why would Chromia want to hide this from her mate? Ratchet's soft presence in her spark did little to soothe her. Nightshade wordlessly pulled Chromia into her arms, letting the femme cry into her shoulder. What was going to happen now? More importantly, what would happen to Chromia's unborn sparkling? And if Emirate found out before they could figure out how to sever their alliance...

* * *

Chromia left the medical bay, acting as though the hounds of hell were on her trail. Nightshade watched silently. Nightshade wearily walked into Ratchet's office, leaning into the doorframe. Ratchet looked up at her and clucked disapprovingly at her obvious distress.

"Nightshade," he said gently, holding his arms up. Nightshade nodded and shut the door before sitting in his lap. The mech wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. Nightshade shuttered her optics and let out a sigh that seemed too large for her small frame. Ratchet let a few breems of silence pass before speaking softly.

"Now, love, what's the matter?"

"Chromia...she," Nightshade started but fell silent as she tried to formulate the sentences. Nightshade did not speak. She fidgeted slightly, staring down at her hands pressed against her mate's chest plates. Ratchet softly stroked her back, soothing her the best that he could.

"Chromia…," Ratchet gently prompted.

"She's carrying."

Nightshade felt Ratchet stiffen slightly. Ratchet let out a soft sigh, shuttering his optics. Primus only knew how long Ironhide had wanted to keep Chromia safe… Ratchet felt Nightshade tugging questioningly at his spark and he took a deep cycle of air into his systems before he spoke.

"Ironhide believes that he is doing what is best for Chromia's health," he admitted. He watched Nightshade's face plates go from confused to angry and he winced slightly at her sudden temper development.

"He's hurting her by refusing to sire a sparkling!"

"Nightshade – ," he began gently.

"At her age, she should have borne at least three or four sparklings…her spark _needs_this, Ratchet. Why would Ironhide do this to her, Ratchet?"

Ratchet thought back on when Ironhide had sworn him to secrecy about his reasons.

"Nightshade, if I tell you, you must swear that you will not say a word to _anyone_. That includes Chromia and Elita, and anyone else. Not even Mirage can know," Ratchet said slowly and quietly, his spark weighing heavily in his chest. Nightshade nodded before whispering her promise.

* * *

Chromia approached Ironhide warily. He was busily recalibrating the massive cannon on his arms. A soft click and high pitched whirr marked his upgrades as a success. He looked up at her. Ironhide frowned slightly at the turmoil in Chromia's spark, wondering what was upsetting her. Had he done something wrong?

"Chromia?"

"Ironhide…there's something I need to tell you," she said quietly, by way of greeting. He nodded and continued tweaking the wires in his arm. Chromia sighed impatiently as he made no move to put his tools down.

"Ironhide, please…"

At her soft voice, he put a laser down and snapped the armor on his arm back into place. He knew something was seriously wrong with Chromia now. Normally, she wouldn't say please. Her soft and broken voice pained his spark - what had he done? He wracked his memory banks - he hadn't done anything different! Had someone hurt her? But who would do something like that?

"What's bothering you," he asked quietly, noting her slightly damp cheek plates. She wearily sat down on the seat facing him. Ironhide reached for her gently.

"I…," she fell silent at his questioning gaze. She turned her gaze down at her hands, all but flinching when Ironhide gently reached to caress her cheek plate. Ironhide leaned forward, trying to ease into their bond, but she blocked him out. He frowned slightly, unease turning his spark cold.

"What is it, Chromia," he asked softly, his voice slightly gruff.

"I'm…I'm carrying," she said. She looked away, not wanting to meet his optics. His thumb continued to caress her cheek plate softly. After a long few minutes, she looked back at him. He was staring out of the window, a contemplating look on his face.

"Ironhide? Please say something," she whispered quietly, her spark twisting fearfully. He reached towards her both physically and through their bond, pulling her into his arms.

"I…I'm sorry, Chromia."

"What for," she asked guardedly, her optics narrowing slightly. What was he going on about? What would he be sorry for? Unless…

"Ironhide, what is it? What haven't you told me," she said, laying her hand against his shoulder.

"You wanted to know what happened to my creators," he said. It was more of a statement than a question. Chromia frowned slightly. First he apologized for nothing, and then he wanted to share a story? Chromia nodded slowly, confusion etched onto her face plates.

"I don't see what this has to do with our sparkling," Chromia said. Her confusion only grew when she felt pain from his half of their bond. She slowly allowed him into her spark, almost wincing at the pain he felt. He had hidden something extremely important from her, but what? Why didn't he trust her with it?

"If you aren't comfortable talking, Ironhide, I can wait," she said gently. Ironhide shook his head.

"I think you should know, Chromia…I never gave you a reason for not wantin' a sparkling, did I," he said, not really talking to her. He focused on the dark clouds on the horizon, trying to gather his thoughts. He had worked so hard to keep Chromia from having to go through the pain of delivering a sparkling…he had done his best to keep her safe…and he had failed. What if she was doomed, too?

"Ironhide?"

Chromia's soft voice startled him from his thoughts.

"I was born to a delta mech and femme in the eighth division. My mech creator was an Autobot soldier and my femme creator a neutral tutor," Ironhide said, allowing his memories to surface. Chromia nodded, sitting beside him. Her presence seemed to bolster his confidence and he continued speaking.

* * *

_- begin flashback -_

_The jet black mech looked disgruntled at the grey youngling hanging from his arm. He gave a mighty shake of the arm but the youngling stubbornly remained attached to his arm. At his glare the youngling laughed. Then he wrapped his legs around the mech's arm as well. It was then that the black mech knew that the youngling would not let go of his arm until he had pleaded his case._

_"Fine, Ironhide. What do you want?"_

"_Oh, come on! Please take me with you? I want to shoot with you!"_

"_NO Ironhide. You're too young to even be thinking about weapons!"_

_There was a moment of silence before Ironhide let go of his mech-creator's arm and dropped to the ground. A small pout crossed his face plates._

"…_please?"_

_Ironspark sighed heavily and shuttered his optics. He shouldn't have looked down at his creation - those begging blue optics were too hard to resist._

"_Fine. Just don't tell your femme creator. I don't wish to recharge in the hallway again," Ironspark said. He smiled when Ironhide leapt into the air, shouting happily. _

"_Let's go! Can I shoot your gun? Or do I have to use the training ones?"_

"_If you behave, I might let you shoot a round or two."_

"_I promise I will behave," Ironhide said happily, grabbing his creator's arm and pulling. Ironspark only laughed, gently pulling his arm from Ironhide's grip._

"_Just a breem, 'hide! Your femme-creator wanted to tell me something," Ironspark said. A small chuckle escaped his vocalizers when Ironhide dejectedly made his way back to their housing unit._

_Firestorm stood in the doorway, her optics narrowed slightly at the pair of mechs._

"_Ironspark, if there's so much as a _scratch_ on his paint, you'll be recharging _outside_," she growled quietly, wagging a finger in her mate's direction. Ironspark swept her into his arms and planted small kisses all over her face plates._

"_Not even a hello for your favorite mech? I'm offended!"_

"_Ironspark!"_

"_Eeew," Ironhide said quietly, turning his optics from the scene. His creators only laughed at him before Firestorm dragged Ironspark into another room. Ironhide remained by himself in their commons room. _

_Ironhide sighed wistfully, staring up at the awards and medals his father had earned. Many of them were for his bravery and loyalty in battle. Ironhide gazed up at a particular medal, gently tracing the outlines of the glyphs inscribed in the precious metal. His father had won this one for holding off an entire platoon of Decepticons long enough for backup to arrive. As a result, he saved countless lives in the nursery he had been defending. Ironhide didn't know what "Decepticons" or "platoons" were but he knew they were bad. The way his father spat the word out made it seem like all of these "decepticon" things were waste._

_Ironhide secretly wished he could be like his mech creator. He wanted to fight even though Ironspark had expressly forbidden it. Any weapons in the house unit were locked up in a room. He had been caught trying to enter the room _once_. That was the only time in his life he had ever been punished._

_The doors to the commons room opened once more. Ironspark wore a radiant smile on his face. Firestorm's blue and ivory armor practically glowed. Ironhide had a sneaking suspicion they had done the thing they called 'kissing'._

"_Ironhide, we're creating another sparkling," she said. Ironhide jumped happily._

"_Is it a mech? Can we take him shooting, too?"_

"_We don't know if it's a mech or femme, Ironhide. And no. You're not taking it shooting," Firestorm said, laughing gently at the dejected look on Ironhide's face plates._

_The orns flew by quickly afterwards. Ironhide noticed a change in his mech creator. He was gone for long periods of time. Whenever he came back, he smelled like smoke and fire and sadness. He never smiled now, not even at Ironhide. Ironspark and Firestorm never left their home any more. Ironspark began spending longer and longer periods of time outside of the home. Finally, Firestorm and Ironhide were moved onto a 'base'. Ironhide didn't know what it meant but Firestorm obviously did. She cried more often now. Firestorm thought that Ironhide couldn't hear her during those late, late hours where she would wait by their communication terminal, waiting for word on Ironspark. _

_It was three orns before Firestorm was due to deliver her sparkling when Ironhide noticed the subtle change in Firestorm's demeanor. Her optics had been brilliant yellow but now they were hardly glowing. Ironhide suddenly had a very strong feeling of unease in his spark when she left for her new job as a secretary. Ironhide waited for joors through the morning and afternoon. Darkness fell and morning came. Firestorm did not come back._

_A strange mech brought him to a clinic. Firestorm was lying on a table with strange tubes and wires sticking out of her body. Ironhide clambered onto the table, gripping her hand like he used to do when he was a youngling. Firestorm's optics were grey. Ironhide could see nothing left of the familiar yellow color. He held onto her hand desperately, begging her to get better. She didn't and neither did the sparkling._

_When he awoke, he was lying in a chair in a strange room. He got to his feet and slowly walked around. The medics in the room didn't give the small youngling a second glance. He came to a window and peered inside – it was the room with his femme creator in it! The berth where his femme creator had lain was covered in a thick sheet. Ironhide felt numb. Where was she? She wasn't in his spark any more. She was gone! But why would she leave him? Why would she abandon him? Ironhide stumbled as he opened the door, walking to the berth on unsteady legs. He pushed the blanket aside and he saw her small hand. He gripped it and called out softly._

"_Momma?"_

_She didn't move. It was then that he saw the table. It was covered in slick pink energon and other fluids. There was a second smaller sheet covering something in the berth beside her. He pushed the sheet aside and was surprised to see a small sparkling lying there. He gently touched the sparkling._

"_Wake up, sparkling," he called out. The sparkling did not move. He patted his femme creator's hand a bit harder._

"_Momma, wake up! Why is the sparkling still asleep?"_

"_Get him out of there," a voice barked out. Suddenly there was a pair of hands wrapped around his waist and he was being pulled out of the room. Ironhide yelled and began struggling wildly against the hands that held him captive._

"_I want my momma! I don't want to leave her please don't take me from her! What if she wakes up without me?"_

_Ironspark was standing outside of the room, a hauntingly blank look on his face plates. _

_Shortly afterwards, Ironspark was admitted into the medical bay. Ironhide wasn't allowed to visit his mech-creator more than twice every half orn. Every time he visited, his mech creator's condition had deteriorated further. His optics were dark grey by his fourth visit. By the fifth, they barely glowed any more. Ironhide's visits were shortened every time he went. The medics and trainees in the medical bay whispered behind their hands more often now. They thought he couldn't hear, but he did._

"_What's going to happen to him?"_

"_Is that patient really going to leave his only sparked son behind?"_

"_Does he have any other family?"_

"…_can't send him to any of the nurseries…they're all gone…no femmes left…"_

"…_said he loved his son dearly…in permanent stasis-lock now…too late for him to tell his son…"_

_Ironhide didn't know what any of it meant but he knew that his mech creator's presence was fading quickly. By his tenth visit, he knew that Ironspark was going to leave him too. Ironhide begged his creator to stay with him but it didn't work. In the end, Ironspark left him, too. Ironhide clung to Ironspark's hand as his optics shuttered for the last time. Ironhide remembered the sounds of his mech creator's optics powering down – it was a sort of whining noise, like a tired robo-fox giving up the chase – the sounds of his systems failing, and the familiar engine dwindling to nothing more than a soft purr before finally shutting down._

_Ironhide didn't cry this time - he knew it was coming along anyway. He deserved it for being so rotten - it was all his fault. Ironhide slumped slightly. If only he had behaved... He got out of the berth and went outside, his optics downcast. He tugged on the nearest medic's hand and pointed at the room._

"_What is it, little one?"_

"_His spark is gone," Ironhide mumbled dejectedly, dropping the medic's hand and making his way to one of the seats. He settled himself to wait. It was only two breems before an unfamiliar mech came into the room. His optics gazed around the room before they alighted on Ironhide's tiny frame. The new mech hurried to the CMO and whispered quietly. Ironhide sighed softly. Were they taking him to the brig for making his creators and the sparkling go away?_

_He knew they were whispering about him, especially with the way their optics flicked between him and one another. The new mech came to Ironhide and settled on one knee joint in front of him._

"_Hello, little one. I am Binary. I'm here to take care of you. What is your designation?"_

"_Ironhide."_

"_A nice strong name. Ironhide, your creators are gone but – "_

"_Will they come back," Ironhide interrupted, his spark flaring hopefully. Maybe he _would_see Firestorm again, and hold her hand again. Maybe Ironspark would finally take him shooting! And he could finally meet the sparkling -_

"_No, Ironhide. They won't be coming back. That is why I'm going to find you a new home," Binary said. Ironhide stared at themech before nodding slightly. At least he wasn't going to be locked up in the brig. Since Ironhide was one of the few remaining younglings, he was sent to the autobot academy._

_Ironhide went in at the tender age of four vorns. There he remained for almost twenty vorns. He was upgraded into a subadult, then into an adult. He was never the same again. It was during one of the stalemates of the war that he was finally able to leave the base for a few orns._

_Then he met Chromia._

_-end flashback-_

* * *

"And that's what happened to Ironhide. I was in the medical wing of the academy most of the time, but we still sparred," Ratchet said, "Are you alright, Nightshade?"

There was a look of abject horror on Nightshade's face plates.

"Oh, poor Ironhide…that poor, poor mech. And Chromia doesn't know," she whispered quietly. Her grip on Ratchet's hand weakened as her fuel tanks threatened to empty themselves.

"Nightshade, it wasn't uncommon for younglings to be sent to the academy," Ratchet said gently, his optic ridges furrowing slightly, "It was the safest place for younglings aside from nurseries…and once the war started. Well. The nurseries were completely annihilated."

Ratchet continued without noticing the faint look on Nightshade's face plates.

"It was probably for the best. Otherwise he would have grown up on the streets as a criminal. Or worse – he could have been taken in by the Decepticons – are you alright?"

"I'm not feeling so well, Ratchet," Nightshade said, placing one gentle hand over her abdomen, "I feel like I'm going to purge my tanks."

"Nightshade, just lean back on the cushions and I'll get you some energon, alright? Don't move," Ratchet said gently. He hurried into his office and filled up a cube for her. Frag! He had forgotten that Nightshade had been on-lined near the end of the war. How could he have forgotten something so important? She probably hadn't ever seen a proper nursery before. Ratchet felt like a pile of slag for frightening her. Ratchet sighed and gently rubbed his face plates. He needed to fix this. He filled up a cube and made his way back towards the room. Nightshade was patiently waiting for him when he returned to the room. She took the cube from him and drank deeply. The shaking in her hands subsided.

"I'm so sorry, Nightshade, if I had known you would be so upset I wouldn't have said a word," Ratchet said, running a second scan. She shook her head. dismissing his apology.

"I'm fine, Ratchet. I just…I just wish there was something I could do for Ironhide and Chromia…to help them through this," she said, propping her head up on her hands.

"Don't worry about it, Nightshade. They'll be fine – they've been through so much more than this. Ironhide will take good care of Chromia and their sparkling," Ratchet soothed gently, "Now please try to recharge. You're getting low on energy."

"Ratchet."

"Are you sure you don't want me to run a scan?"

"_Ratchet_. I know my limits and I know my body. Please don't bring this up again," Nightshade said, rubbing the sides of her cranial unit gently. Ratchet nodded, stroking her back gently.

"I'm just worried, Nightshade. Our sparkling hasn't been growing as fast as it should have. I'm scared," Ratchet admitted quietly, holding her tightly to his chest. Nightshade nodded, fighting down the unease in her spark. The way Ratchet's voice had broken when he said he was scared unnerved her to no end. It was true – their sparkling should have been much more defined and much larger at this point in her carrying stage. If the sparkling wasn't big enough when she delivered... Nightshade placed a hand onto her abdomen, praying to Primus that their child would survive.

* * *

The mech standing at the helm of the ship sneered at the planet. So this was where he was expected to live? The planet was covered in so much water! It was a wonder that any of the others rusted through completely! Or maybe the new Prime's head had already rusted through. He snorted quietly, motioning a drone over.

"Another flute of high grade. Make it quick," he drawled out softly. A femme entered the room. Her ivory armor was decorated with thin strips of rare metals and gems, labeling the femme as Emirate's current consort.

"Emirate, is that where we are expected to live?"

"Unfortunately," Emirate sighed, glancing over at her, "And who said you could come in here?"

"I apologize," she said instantly, bowing her head, "I only wanted to know – "

"Go make yourself useful," Emirate snapped. The femme flinched slightly and scurried out of the room, apologizing profusely. Emirate sighed happily. Once he arrived, he'd have his ship to himself. One set of colonists had given him supplies and money for passage to Earth. Then he would be able to rid himself of them.

And once he landed, he would find Chromia and consummate their alliance. Primus only knew how much more beautiful she was now that she had been upgraded into her adult body. He smirked. Unless Ironhide and the current Prime were the best of friends, Ironhide wouldn't stand a chance against the laws set long ago by the Council of Ancients.

* * *

Ratchet waited until Nightshade was deep in recharge before quietly slipping from their berth. He stole down the hallways into one of the meeting rooms, where Ironhide and Optimus awaited. He gave Ironhide a nod before sitting. Ironhide was slouching down on the table, cradling his head in his hands.

"Ratchet, good to see you. Have you - ?"

"Yes, I've gotten all that we need to prove our case," Ratchet said, bringing a large stack of digipads from a subspace pocket, "And Emirate will not be able to say a word once I present my materials."

"Good," Optimus said, "Now, Ironhide. Did you and Chromia bond before her femme-creator said Emirate was returning for her?"

"Yes," Ironhide said quietly, "We bonded almost a half-joor beforehand."

"I think that Emirate has no place in saying anything," Optimus said quietly, "As Prime and high judge on this case, I deem his claims to Chromia as an unfortunate misunderstanding on his behalf."

"But Prime, it says in the Book of Codes that he _does _have a right to her," Ratchet reminded Prime gently, showing the Optimus the copy of the book. Optimus shook his head, a mischievous twinkle in his optic.

"If we don't have a copy of the page in question at the time that the decision is made, there is nothing I can do. I can't be expected to memorize the entire book, can I?"

"No, sir," Ratchet said, a small smirk on his face. There was a tinkling noise as Ratchet crushed the only copy of their Book of Codes and swept the remains into a bin.

"Now, sir, you should get started on rewriting that book," Ratchet said quietly, "Emirate has a copy of the book. He'll try to use that against us. You need to have that rewritten or else he _will win _Chromia, no matter what you say."

"Frag! I _can't _remember what goes in the book! How am I going to rewrite the fraggin' thing?!"

Ratchet sighed. At least he had the foresight to list the topics beforehand. He handed Prime a list with the topics and Prime sighed in relief.

"Prowl will be in charge while I rewrite this thing. Ratchet, you're his advisor," Prime said, muttering as he left the room. Ratchet watched after him with wide optics. What?! Him and Prowl? Granted, he _had_ stepped in as a de facto lord, but...still! That had been for what, three-four months? The only thing he had done was negotiate a ceasefire! Why him? _Why_? Prowl was more than capable of dealing with Prime's duties! If anything, Jazz should have been Prowl's advisor! Maybe even Ironhide - he was third in command, right? Nightshade was going to have a _fit_.

He could hear it now...

"Listen, Nightshade...yes, I know I disappeared last night...really, was it _that_ late?...no, I wasn't sampling high grade!...Oh...By the way - Prime kind of instated me as Prowl's advisor...Did I mention that Prowl will be stepping in for Prime while we willingly sabotage Emirate's claims to Chromia? I didn't mention it? Oops! It must have slipped my processor. Ah...so that means I will probably be very, very, _very_ busy..."

Slag.

He was recharging out in the hallway for the next orn.

* * *

Oh yeah. Emirate's aft belongs to Ironhide now. And the bit with Ratchet stepping in as a 'de facto lord' (which means: as an issue of fact, whether law or not.) is true, at least by Titan Books. It gives an awesome backstory for Ratchet and his involvement in launching the AllSpark.

Musical Inspiration: "Amaranth" by Nightwish, "Passion's Killing Floor" by H.I.M., and "Ghost Opera" by Kamelot.

**Kerry-and-angela:** No. (did y'all have fun in Maine?) And Kerry, you made a promise! (holds up giant Sharpie) Do it or else your purse is _mine._


	35. In Which There is Elita

Elita and Optimus: How They Came to Be

Rating: R, of course. :)  
Warnings: Smut? Ironhide and Ratchet poking fun at Optimus?

Phoenix13 – there's a snippet in here just for you. I couldn't help it. Any damages that may be caused by snorting water at a screen needs to be reported to her, not me. She's the one that said this sounded like a good idea. ;D

A bazillion thank you's to Litahatchee for reading this and pointing out glaring mistakes! :D She's the awesomeness!

This takes place at the end of Chapter 33, when Chromia and Ironhide get together. This is how Elita was driven into Optimus's arms. ;)

* * *

Elita stirred wearily, shifting slightly. Optimus's couch had become her second home, her safe haven away from Chromia and Ironhide. She loved her second in command like a sister, but sometimes enough was _enough_. Tonight was one of those nights. Chromia had all but dragged Ironhide away from his post the second his shift ended. It was then that Elita knew that she was going to be spending the night with Optimus.

Then Elita felt her internals heat up at her errant thought. Spending the night with the Prime? Most femmes would have killed to be in her position. Elita winced at her choice of words. Not that she would mind being in any position with him…

She began musing on his looks. He had big broad shoulders and chest which teasingly narrowed into lean hips. His impressive upper body was supported by an equally impressive set of legs and toned aft. She moaned softly when her internal temperature climbed even higher as she envisioned his powerful arms and thick hands, and just how gentle those strong hands really were. When she could no longer process data coherently, she stopped thinking about him like he was a consort. Her internals would fry if she kept _that_ kind of activity up.

He was a work of art, simply put. His optics blazed the most exquisite shade of blue, a color she'd never seen before. Optimus's face plates were arranged regally – the one who had created his adult body must have known that he was building the body for a king. What drove most femmes to their knees was that face mask that he always wore and rarely retracted – mostly because she knew what beauty lay beneath. Few femmes had ever seen him with it retracted. Elita shook her cranial unit hard, upping her coolant systems a few notches.

She had no right to be thinking about the Prime like that. She wasn't even fit to be in the same room as he was. Elita sighed gently, rolling onto her back. What she wouldn't give to have him for a night! Not only was he a superb specimen of maleness, he was one of the most humble (but complicated) mechs she had _ever_ met. He was quiet but he loved to talk, he hated being Prime but he was born to lead, he could have _any_ femme at his beck-and-call but he never took advantage of his status and looks. Elita frowned slightly. Actually, she never had seen him alone with a femme before…

Soft beeping from the keypad outside brought Elita back to reality. Optimus was keying the codes for his door in. She hurriedly turned onto her side, pretending to recharge. She shuttered her optics just as the door hissed open. Then the door shut and she heard soft footsteps. They headed in her direction. Optimus paused, glancing at her. Elita was obviously not in recharge.

"I know you're not recharging, Elita," Optimus said, planting his fists on his hip compartments. Elita did not move at all. She instead focused on making her air intakes even. He smirked quietly. Elita felt her filters hitch when he moved closer and closer. Her spark flared uncomfortably. She could hear his internals whirring and processing! If he didn't move soon, she'd burst into laughter and give herself away!

"I know you're not recharging because your vocal modulators process data when you do," he said softly, right into her audio receptor. She jerked away from him – sudden heat spread down her body. Intense fire licked at every circuit in her entire being at the low voice and warmth radiating from his frame. He must have pulled some major overtime if his body was _that_ overheated. Elita suddenly realized the implications of what he had said.

"What the frag do you mean? You watch me _recharge?_ You sick, sick creation of a - "

"Oh, come on, Elita, I was kidding," Optimus said, holding his hands up defensively at the enraged – and disturbed – femme, "Ow! Stop hitting me!"

He grabbed onto her hands, trying to pin her hands down by her sides. Elita let out a snarl before kicking him in the shin, struggling wildly. She may have been the Femme Commander, but she was still no match for him. He easily pinned her hands to his chest and she stopped struggling. He watched her cautiously.

Elita, however, fell silent for completely different reasons. Her computing center was screaming at her – she was actually touching those broad chest plates, the ones she sometimes dreamed of parting slowly and teasing before joining with him – she needed to get away _now_. She needed to get away and take care of the familiar arousal threaded through her entire frame before she fried her internals. She blinked and growled quietly.

"Fraggit, Prime! Let me go!"

"Only if you swear not to hit me," he said. He waited until she stopped struggling to let go of her. Upon doing so, he leapt away, as though expecting her to attack him. She giggled quietly, suddenly shy. He cautiously took a seat next to her, keeping a wary optic on her. Then he flipped the datascreen in the room on. He looked through the menus, a pained and bored expression on his face plates. Elita snatched the device from him and began flipping through it in earnest.

"Elita! Give that back," he said, reaching for the device. Elita shook her cranial unit and moved away from him. She laughed as he dove for her. He would never act like that in public! He had been forced to mature quickly. He had all but been instated as Prime _and_ Supreme Commander of the Autobot army upon his upgrade into an adult. Elita laughed as he gave her the most adorable pout, one that she could barely resist. The pout became more sensual as those delicious looking lips of his pursed even further.

Instead of giggling, she felt her internal temperatures climb _even _higher. Any higher and she'd melt out of her armor! Elita fumbled with the device for a mere astrosecond and that was all that it took for Optimus to tackle her. Unfortunately, his mass combined with her surprise meant that she landed onto her back. Hard. As a result, she now had a rather lovely view of his chest plates and the slightly uncomfortable sensation of his interface appliance digging into her abdominal plating. The rest of her body was more than ready and willing to interface.

Poor Optimus didn't know the battle raging inside Elita – she could have sworn that her shell was melting out from under her armor – instead, he was more focused on prying the device out of her now clenched hands. The heat in Elita's body was a pleasant burn, one that was concentrated around her spark and its casing. She shivered slightly, trying to focus her gaze somewhere other than the tantalizing seam in Optimus's chest plates.

Upon thinking of what Optimus's spark might look like, hers gave a mighty leap in its casing, causing her to arch her chest towards him. At her soft hiss, he shot her a curious glance. She was clutching at the cushions beneath them tightly with a pained expression on her face. Optimus quirked an optic ridge at her.

"What's the matter, Elita? Am I hurting you?"

"N-no," she whispered. Her cooling fans clicked into high gear. The soft whine was all that could be heard in the apartment. The data streaming across the screen had been muted during their brief wrestling match. Optimus only looked more confused at the soft noise. What on Cybertron was going on?

"But your armor is all warm, Elita. Are you sure you don't want to go to the medical bay? I'm sure that we can get whatever's wrong fixed," he said softly, gently pressing his hand against her chassis, "You're over heated."

At his touch, she let out a soft, needy moan, shuttering her optics. Optimus jerked away, apologizing. Elita couldn't process what he had said – no other mech had elicited a reaction like that from her before. Why was he so different? Was it his voice, or the fact that he was so Primus-forsaken _off limits_ to someone her station? Or was it that -

"Elita, I _am_ hurting you, aren't I? I'm so sorry," he said, pulling away from her at her soft whimper. Elita gave him a clouded and puzzled glance. Surely he knew the difference between a 'pained' moan and an 'I-want-to-interface-with-you-_now_' moan?

"You _weren't_ hurting me," she breathed out, grabbing his hand, "I _want_ you to _touch_ me. There's a difference between that and pain, Optimus."

"Why would you want me to touch you," he asked, genuinely confused. Elita stared at him for two astroseconds before shaking her cranial unit. Was he really serious? He slouched slightly where he sat and Elita truly saw what he meant. The poor mech was as innocent as the day he had been sparked – well, at least in the interfacing department. Otherwise, he swore, drank, and fought like every other mech. Elita sighed softly. What was she to do now? The burning intensified as he shifted, accidentally brushing up against her.

"You really aren't fragging with me, are you?"

"What is it, Elita? I don't understand," Optimus said quietly.

"Uhm…you know what interfacing is, right?"

A shake of the cranial unit doused Elita's arousal. Disbelief spread through her systems, but then she realized that it had been quite obvious. She had never seen him alone with a femme. He didn't know how to act around females other than her. Elita had thought his awkward charm had been an intricate plot to bring the femmes to their knees, but…she was wrong. He really _was_ that socially awkward.

"What is it?"

"Ah…maybe…you should ask another mech," she stuttered out, trying not to laugh. _THE_ Optimus Prime, stealer of femme-sparks, most desired and lusted after mech on Cybertron, had _never_ heard of interfacing?! The irony was too much! Elita thought that maybe someone had thought to teach him what it meantat least. After hiding her amusement well, she finally placed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. He frowned slightly in response. Elita stroked the side of his face gently. Her lip components quirked into a smile as he leaned into her touch, shuttering his optics happily.

"What was that for," he murmured softly. At this comment, Elita burst into laughter. So maybe he _was_ as innocent as the day he was sparked! Well, it wasn't his fault – she blamed it entirely on the Council. She cursed the old mechs. Just because they probably never had the pleasure of being with a femme didn't mean that they had to deny Optimus.

"_That_ was a kiss, Optimus," she said, "And if you don't know what interfacing is, you should ask another mech before I jump your circuits and scar you for life."

She only received a confused look. He shrugged slightly before tentatively reaching his hand to her cheek plate. Elita smiled softly when his thumb caressed her jaw line.

"I would like to kiss you again," Optimus said. She nodded. He gave her a shy smile, gently pulling her closer to him.

"We can do that," Elita said teasingly, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nodded, eagerly lowering his mouth component to hers. Perhaps, a bit too eagerly – he winced as his dental plates scraped against Elita's. He pulled away, embarrassed. Elita gave him a reassuring smile before planting her hands on his shoulders and slowly pulling his lips to hers.

Elita happily sighed against his lips when they finally parted. The rumors about Optimus were true.

He was a _very_ fast learner.

* * *

Optimus hurried down the hallways, a haggard look on his face plates. To other mechs, this was considered normal. Perhaps he was on official, Autobot Army business. Alas, he was not pursuing endeavors of the political kind, but of the pleasurable sort - the _very_ pleasurable sort.

He and Elita had thoroughly kissed one another last night and he wanted to continue, but he didn't know what to do. Elita had only given him a soft 'good night' before leaving him to his own devices. He had lain awake on his recharge berth for hours afterwards, remembering just how lovely it was to have her soft lip components pressed against his, her glossa gently massaging his, and her willing body writhing underneath his –

He arrived at his destination suddenly. Optimus looked around nervously before raising one massive fist and rapping sharply on the door. What would the other mechs say if they knew why he was there? The door opened a few astroseconds later.

"What do you need, Prime," Ironhide said, raising one optical ridge at his friend. Normally, Optimus wasn't so tightly strung. Ironhide had the sudden image of a glitchmouse. The mech was all but twitching on the spot, repeatedly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Ironhide found this amusing and he smirked.

"Ah…can we talk," Optimus asked, fighting down his embarrassment.

"Alright, come on in," Ironhide said, shifting his bulk out of the doorway and motioning Optimus into the room. Chromia was sitting cross legged on one of the tables. Chromia had various tools and supplies scattered about her and a wicked looking rifle in her lap. Without speaking, she gave him a cheery wave before returning to her work, eagerly prying the casing on the weapon apart. Optimus continued shifting his weight from foot to foot, much to Ironhide's amusement. Finally, he took pity upon the mech and shot him a curious look.

"Alright, what do you need?"

Optimus leaned over and whispered into Ironhide's auditory receptor. As the one sided conversation progressed, Ironhide's jaw dropped lower and lower. Chromia shot them a few curious glances. Ironhide stepped away, unable to believe Optimus's predicament. Seeing that his friend was not trying to mess with his logic center, Ironhide nodded slowly.

"Chromia? Optimus and I need to talk. Official mech business," he said. Chromia nodded and smirked, shooting Optimus a knowing glance. Optimus felt his intakes go cold at the mischievous smirk that crossed Chromia's face as she stood up. She planted a quick kiss on Ironhide's lip components before leaving the room. Once the door had hissed shut, Ironhide turned to Optimus.

"Are you fragging with me, Optimus? How do _you, _of _all_ mechs, not know what interfacing is?!"

"Ironhide! I honestly don't know," Optimus interrupted, "If you're not going to help me, then I'm leaving!"

"Ah, get back here. Sit down. This…this'll be…a bit awkward. I'm going to need a drink…and some backup," Ironhide muttered, rubbing his cranial unit, "I'm going to call one of the medics down here, alright?"

"NO!"

"Prime, I know the techniques, not the technicalities! I've got the perfect mech in mind. He'll be able to answer _any_ question you've got about interfacin'," Ironhide said, frowning down at his friend. Optimus relented and nodded. Ironhide went stock still and his optics brightened a bit. This went on for quite a while. Finally, Ironhide's optics returned to their normal state. He nodded at Optimus, who had suddenly perked up.

"He'll be here in a few breems. One of his patients just exploded his lab," Ironhide said. Optimus nodded and they sat in tense silence until there was a loud knocking on the door. Ironhide got up and opened the door, motioning the other mech inside. The mech dropped a case onto the floor and muttered about Ironhide paying his half of the tab.

"Alright, Ironhide. Where's the new batch of energon that we're going to corrupt?"

"He's over here, Ratchet," Ironhide said, motioning over at Optimus carelessly. The mech named 'Ratchet' glanced around the room, his optics flicking over Optimus. Then he did a double take.

"Where – Primus. _The_ Prime? You're fragging with me, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not! Ask him yourself!"

"There's no way in Pit that he's never interfaced! I'm going back to the medical bay," the red and white mech said, turning to leave, "Thanks for wasting my time, you inconsiderate fragger."

"Wait a nanoklik! I swear that what he said is true," Optimus cried out. Ratchet turned and fixated him with an intense stare. Ironhide punched the red and white mech in the shoulder.

"Didja bring the high grade?"

"Yes, of course," Ratchet snapped, motioning to the crates on the floor, "Did you not notice me dropping those crates onto the floor?"

"Have you ever had high grade before," Ironhide asked Optimus, ignoring Ratchet's statement.

"Yes, of course," Optimus said. Ratchet and Ironhide nodded, the both of them rumbling in approval. Maybe Optimus wasn't as hopeless as they thought. Interfacing, high grade, and proper usage of swear words were the initiation rites that a mech had to excel at to be considered a fully fledged, proper mech. At least Optimus had the high grade and swearing down. Now all he had to do was get the femme and he would be set.

"So what do you know about femmes, Optimus?"

"They're pretty?"

"This is going to take a while," Ironhide said, groaning softly, tossing back the rest of his high grade in one go. Ratchet nodded, amused at the hopelessly-lost look on Optimus's face plates.

"Have you kissed anyone yet," Ratchet asked, deeming it the safest question he could possibly ask. Ratchet prayed that Prime had done so – he was _not_ going to demonstrate for him!

"Yes," Optimus said, eager to prove that he _wasn't _as hopeless as they thought he was.

"When was the first time," Ratchet asked, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back into the chair.

"Uh…last night?"

Ironhide popped open another barrel of high grade in response to Optimus's reply. He eyed it for an astrosecond before tossing it back as well. Ratchet, however, remained professional except for the blasted smirk on his face plates.

"Alright, so you've gotten step one done. How far have you gone with her?"

"We kissed and touched a little," Optimus said, shrugging slightly, "Nothing else…"

"How much is 'a little', Optimus? Did you brush up against her, touch her chassis, touch her interface port –"

"That's enough from you, Ironhide! Be a bit more professional, would you?"

"Oh, be quiet, Ratchet!"

"Be quiet, both of you! Are you going to help me or not?"

"Are you going to answer my question," Ironhide shot at Optimus. Optimus shot him a glare and sighed.

"I touched her chassis."

"That's good. Did she touch you back?"

"No, she said something about not wanting to 'jump my circuits and scar me for the rest of my life'," Optimus said, squinting slightly as he tried to remember what Elita had said. Ratchet nodded in approval.

"Smart femme you've got. Who is it," Ratchet asked, his lip components twitching as he held his laughter back. Optimus did not notice – he instead dropped his gaze into his lap and shifted uncomfortably.

"Unprofessional my aft, Ratchet! As if asking him who his first femme is going to be _isn't_ professional," Ironhide interjected, shaking his cranial unit, "Who is it, Optimus?"

"Oh, be quiet, Ironhide. I don't need any more comments from you. One more word and you're out of the room," Ratchet snapped, glaring at Ironhide. Optimus shrugged slightly as both mechs glanced at him.

"Elita," he finally mumbled out.

The high grade that had once been in Ironhide's fuel intakes was now sprayed across the floor. Then he began laughing madly, clutching at his sides. Ratchet managed to bite back his snort.

"You must have a death wish, Prime! Her femmes will _kill_ you if they find out you're the mech doing the horizontal data exchange with her!"

It was true, Ratchet mused. The femmes in Elita's division were just as protective of their commander as she was of them. If they found out that Prime and Elita were 'doing the horizontal data exchange', as Ironhide oh so eloquently paraphrased, then they would claim that he was abusing his position as Prime. Their relationship would effectively be severed, Elita would be replaced as femme commander and Optimus would never be allowed out of his quarters again.

"_Ironhide,_" Ratchet growled, motioning for the doorway, "_Out_."

"I'm kidding! I promise I'll behave," Ironhide said, before muttering quietly, "Fragger."

"What was that, Ironhide," Ratchet snapped, leveling an icy glare at Ironhide. Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest plate moodily, sinking in his chair.

"Nothing," he muttered quietly.

"Good. Keep your vocalizer off," Ratchet said, reaching for a second barrel of high grade. He opened his and took a few small sips, frowning disapprovingly as Ironhide took massive gulps of his. Was he trying to overenergize himself or what? It really wasn't _that_ bad to have this talk! Ratchet smirked slightly. This was highly amusing (and intriguing!) At least he was going to have an excuse to tell his instructor as to why he late for his shift - "Sorry, boss, I was teaching Prime how to interface!"

"Now, Optimus. The only advice I can give you for your first time is to take it slow and explore one another. Reaching overload can be difficult, especially if you are nervous. Relax and let her teach you what she knows," Ratchet said gently. Optimus raised one hand meekly.

"What is it, Optimus?"

"You still haven't explained what interfacing is," he said quietly.

"You know what an interface port is, right," Ironhide interjected, "She's got one, too. Press yours against hers and cycle information. Touch her, kiss her, bend her over, do whatever you want to her and overload. Got it? Good. Now get out of my room. This is getting awkward."

"_Ironhide_! Optimus, interfacing is for pleasure only. Interfacing is a bit of a broad term – there are many different ways to reach overload. You can touch one another until you are comfortable enough to lock interface ports," Ratchet said kindly, "And don't open your chest plates under any condition. That's called mating. _That_ is a whole different story right there, one that we are _not_ going to discuss with Ironhide in the room!"

"I…I think I've got it."

"Any more questions," Ratchet asked.

"Does it have to be in that order? I mean touching, then kissing…then we get to overload? And…where do I touch her?"

"Like I said, Optimus, your best bet is to slowly explore -"

"Frag that, Ratchet. The kid needs to know _where_ to touch her to keep her coming _back_ to him. Elita's one of the warrior class femmes, so her armor is pretty thick. Go for the gaps in her armor and just barely touch her," Ironhide interrupted, "Make sure you put just enough pressure for her to feel you, but not so much as to hurt her. Got it?"

"Seams…armor. Got it. Where else," Optimus asked, diligently taking mental notes. Ironhide blinked when he realized that the other mechs in the room were staring at him expectantly.

"Ah…well…Chromia likes it when I use my glossa –"

"Keep it clean, Ironhide. Once he gets comfortable, you can move on to _that_ kind of stuff," Ratchet warned quietly, shooting Ironhide a nasty glare.

"What kind of stuff," Optimus asked innocently. The other two mechs stared at him until he fidgeted uncomfortably. Really, it wasn't his fault he hadn't interfaced before! Since he was Prime, he was pretty much under lock and key. He had never been alone with a femme for more than a breem or two at a time, and never in his rooms! Someone from the Council or one of his many, many escorts was always present if he ever needed to speak with a femme.

"Advanced techniques," Ironhide said, "Back on track. Warrior class femmes… Well, Chromia's an alpha-carrier class…fraggit, Ratchet. You've been around the base more times than I can count. What _do_ they like?"

"Go frag yourself, Ironhide! I'm surprised you can _even_ count – and how do you know how many times I've – "

"Ratchet! We're here to help wee little Optimus with his first time," Ironhide interrupted, leering at Ratchet, "And answer my question, you mechslut."

"_Ironhide,_ I'm going to rearrange your face plates – no, wait, I'm going to _remove_ your interface appliance –"

"I didn't know you were into _those_ kinds of things, Ratchet! - "

"Slag that, I'm going to turn you into a _femme_ - what'll Chromia say then?! - "

"She won't mind," Ironhide shot back, grinning and leering at Ratchet. Ratchet blinked and stared at Ironhide.

"Wait, _what_?" Ratchet was suddenly too interested in Chromia's interface life for Prime's tastes, so he decided to interrupt.

"Come on, Ratchet, ignore Ironhide," Optimus said, piping up, giving Ratchet the most pleading, begging glance that he could muster up. Ratchet glared at Ironhide for another few astroseconds before relenting, taking pity on the mech.

"There's pelvic armor, but that's pretty much across the board…all femmes like being touched there and abdominal plating, depending on how old they are. Elita should be very responsive to that," Ratchet said thoughtfully, wracking his databanks, "Their neck and shoulder apparatus are very sensitive. If you're feeling bold, try biting gently. Spinal relays are hard to get to, so don't even bother…"

"Not really, Ratchet-"

"Yes, but Optimus hasn't ever _been_ with a femme."

"Oh. Frag."

"Ignore him. Their lateral fuel lines are particularly sensitive. Try touching her there and kissing her. You should get a very good response," Ratchet said. Optimus nodded.

"Any more questions?"

"No…"

"Oh! Make sure she overloads before you, so she doesn't think you're a one breem mech," Ironhide advised seriously, patting Optimus's knee joint. Optimus nodded, even though he didn't have the faintest idea what a 'one breem mech' was. Ratchet only groaned softly, shaking his cranial unit. Ironhide really was _no_ help at all.

"Listen, Optimus, I know Ironhide here isn't much help. If you have any questions or concerns about your first interface, let me know and I'll explain what other options we haven't gone over," Ratchet said gently, trying to hide his amusement, "Once you've done the deed, come into the medical bay and let me examine you and your partner of choice."

Optimus nodded. He was armed with tips and hints from the most experienced bots on Cybertron. He could do this! He was not going to fail Elita! A second pointed glance at the door from Ironhide and he knew he was no longer wanted in the room. Optimus excused himself politely, thanking Ironhide and Ratchet for their insight.

Once the door had hissed shut behind Optimus, Ironhide fidgeted slightly. Ratchet glanced at Ironhide, Ironhide glanced at Ratchet, their gazes met…and it was too much for either mech to hold back his laughter. With a few snorts, both mechs were sprawled over their chairs on the verge of stasis lock, laughing hysterically. Ratchet recovered more quickly than Ironhide. Ratchet, after all, had _some_ sense of professional decorum

Alas, the same could not be said for Ironhide.

"Wait til I tell Chromia!"

"One word, Ironhide, one _fragging _word and your skid plates are mine. Compute?"

"Sure thing, doc-bot," Ironhide said, settling back into his seat and picking up a third barrel of high grade. He raised the barrel toward the ceiling.

"A toast for Optimus," he said gravely. Ratchet snorted quietly and raised his barrel as well.

"May his first time be memorable in every way."

* * *

Optimus strode back into his room, his cranial unit held up high. Confidence coursed through his energon lines. He could do this! He had been taught the theory. All he had to do now was to successfully apply the theory and see if he could bring Elita to overload. It wouldn't be too bad, he decided. He had been thrown into both positions as Prime and Commander and he was doing very well. So how hard could interfacing and overload be?

However, his confidence wore off quickly as he approached his bedroom. Elita was inside, still recharging away on the many comfortable cushions that adorned the berth. He lay down in the berth beside her, raising himself on his elbow and tentatively putting his hand on her hip joint. She purred happily at his touch and scooted closer, eager for physical contact. Optimus gently pulled her against him, relishing the curves pressed against his front.

He timidly strayed along the long lines of her body, memorizing every inch of her body. His fingertips were feather light on her shell, delicately tracing seams and glyphs. He paused at the seam where her chassis met her abdominal plating. Ironhide had mentioned touching her there, right? He gently dragged his fingertips across the soft pliable sheets of metal. So engrossed was he in her body that he did not notice her optics turning on.

"I might just stay if you wake me up like that every morning," she groaned softly, shooting him a sly smile. Optimus sheepishly looked away.

"Sorry for waking you up," he started, but he was interrupted by Elita placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"Don't be. So….What are you doing today?"

"I'm off for today…and so are you…maybe…we can…," he trailed off thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling for an astrosecond. Elita raised one optical ridge at him, questioning in what he wanted to do. Elita had plans in mind, one that involved lots of interfacing and maybe getting some work done.

"And…?"

"Maybe we can watch the datascreen a bit," Optimus finally finished, shooting her a mischievous look. Elita rolled her optics before grabbing the front of his chest plates and tugging him down for a kiss.

"If – that's what – you really want," she said, interspersing her sentence with soft kisses. Optimus made a soft noise of disagreement, scooping one arm underneath her. Grabbing her thigh gently, he pulled her flush up against him. Optimus began fumbling slightly, knowing fully well what Elita wanted, but not quite sure what to do.

He continued brushing up against her softly, tentatively letting his hands stray down the sides of her body. Elita mewled softly and shuttered her optics. The burning in her chest increased but she pushed it away, moaning appreciatively at his tender kiss.

Elita complied, allowing him to touch her as he pleased. This continued for a breem or two, or until Elita felt that she was about to melt out of her shell. Giving Optimus a second glance, she realized that he had no idea what to do next. She gently pushed him onto his back, putting a finger up to his lip components when he tried to speak.

"Allow me," she said softly. He nodded and waited, shifting against the cushions. Being seated, he had a lovely view of the femme straddling his hips. Her small pink hands began tracing patterns against his armor.

"Have…have you ever been touched like this," she asked, afraid to ruin the moment. He shook his cranial unit.

"No," he admitted sheepishly, and when she drew back, "You don't mind, right?"

"I don't…are you sure you want to do this with me," she asked hopefully. He nodded, eagerly putting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer. Elita began to stroke his shoulders, slowly dropping her hands down to his chest. She traced the glyphs there, wondering what they meant to him. She was brought back to reality by a soft moan from Optimus. He shifted slightly, seeking a firmer touch from her.

She gently began to bite at his throat, gently suckling on the exposed fuel lines. He moved his hands upwards, using his thumbs to trace her abdominal plating. Elita moaned appreciatively, urging him to continue. Optimus complied, using a bit more pressure, nipping her throat softly at the same time.

Elita moved her hands to his shoulders, dipping her fingers into the rotor cuff. His optics shuttered themselves and he let out a low, approving purr. Elita captured his lips again. He was approaching overload a bit too quickly for her tastes, so she slowed her movements – soft teasing brushes against his armor, barely dipping her fingers into the seams of his armor, and just _barely_ touching him. Optimus grew bolder and moved his mouth to her throat. He was rewarded with another wanton moan from Elita. He remembered another one of Ironhide's tips – touch the seams in her armor.

He did so, and Elita bucked against him, crying his name out. He smirked at her response and continued his ministrations. Elita was whimpering his name with wild abandon, grinding her hips against his. He felt her interface unit boot up and his responded in the same manner. Somehow, he knew to guide her hips to his and he did so.

It took a second try to lock their interface ports together. Elita let out a soft, appreciative moan as he finally uploaded into her systems. Then they began cycling energy once Optimus had figured out the technique. Elita let out a second breathy moan, digging her fingers under his chassis. He let out a whimper, one that made her weak in the knees. They cycled the energy faster and faster, until Elita tensed in his arms. He dug his fingers into her sides, teasing the fuel lines that Ratchet had mentioned.

His world exploded in a flash of light. He could barely hear Elita's cries over the roar of his internal fans working overtime to keep him online. Optimus let out a soft cry at the searing, pleasurable heat spreading from his interface port upwards into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her chest closer to his, attempting to alleviate the sudden pulses of need his spark sent out. Elita clutched at him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. She trembled in his arms as they rode out their high.

The pleasure dissipated quickly afterwards. He crashed back into his body suddenly and hard. Optimus groaned softly. He was down to less than sixty percent energy. Elita managed to place a shaky kiss on his lips before collapsing in his arms.

Optimus barely had enough time to disengage the both of them before he succumbed to recharge. Elita followed shortly afterwards, her entire frame sagging against his.

* * *

Ratchet and Ironhide shared a knowing glance at the soft cries from within Prime's room. They had taken up post outside of the spacious apartments. No one had been allowed near the room – by Ratchet's professional medical opinion, Prime was not feeling well and should stay in the room until a more highly trained physician could tend to him. No one dared argue with the medic whose legendary aim preceded him.

Ironhide sighed and stared up at the ceiling, smirking when Elita voiced her pleasure loudly. Ratchet handed Ironhide a barrel of high grade. Ratchet held his toward the sky, speaking somberly though he could not hide the smirk threatening to emerge on his face plates. What? It wasn't his fault that he liked teasing rookies.

"Our little Optimus has become a fully fledged mech," Ratchet said, "And with the loss of his innocence comes a certain responsibility – "

"To interface as often as possible!"

"Ironhide!"

"What?"

"I was going to say that he needed to learn how to please her _properly_, but…that works, too," Ratchet said, shrugging slightly. Ironhide gave his friend a lopsided grin before raising his high grade into the air as well. Both mechs shared a glance before drinking down their respective cubes. They were both surprised when they heard a second round of moans from Optimus's room. It would be amost a half-joor before Ironhide and Ratchet could leave their posts outside of Prime's door.


	36. In Which There is Fear

Chapter 36

Disclaimer: I only own my OC's. Ask before you take. Thank you!

I promise I'm not dead! It's just been a long, long, _long_ month. BUT tomorrow is GRADUATION and NO MORE SCHOOL…at least until August rolls around, but I'm not looking that far ahead! **SENIORS '08!**

Let's see….Carrying belongs to Litahatchee. The term "subadult" belongs to LittleMewLugia.

A bajillion cookies to LamentofMeow for being there to bounce ideas, put up with my constant threats of siccing Chuck Norris on her if she didn't put out some PXJ lovin' (and for various other reasons as well), and reading my pointless and rather amusing pr0n. Also, she deserves a medal for braving the internet and its tendency to eat things. ;)

Litahatchee: Girl, I've got your back. Just say the word and I'll instigate the crowd into a mob like frenzy. And thank you sooo much for your advice. I did what you said and inspiration struck me, kind of like a pimp hittin' his ho. (Now how's that for amusing imagery?)

Everyone else: Red Alert works in both the medical bay as an assistant and as chief of security. It is **NOT **an error to see him putting the Twins into the brig and hauling someone's aft to the medical bay. This will come into play eventually, so stop messaging me and telling me that you've 'caught a boo-boo'.

* * *

There was chaos as far as the optic could see.

Literally.

Prime was currently in the middle of a stern lecture with Jazz and Bumblebee. The two mischievous bots had decided to 'make a few alterations' on one of Ironhide's many, many weapons. The end result was catastrophic – the few mechs and femmes that had been within spraying range of the silly string were being hosed down by a very upset Inferno. His alternate mode, a fire engine, was the only one capable of dealing with the impromptu mess.

Ironhide, who had gone ballistic, had been restrained and sedated by Ratchet. Ratchet could understand why – Chromia had been one of the femmes that had been struck with shrapnel. Chromia was also carrying _his_ sparkling. So Ratchet could fully understand why Ironhide reacted so violently. However, no one else knew about the sparkling, so they attributed the sudden violence to a few glitched systems. Hence, Ratchet's prompt and speedy intervention. Thankfully for Chromia (and Jazz and Bumblebee), the shrapnel was relatively harmless and had only caused superficial scratches to her paint.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were making lewd comments to Epsilon. Prowl decided to intervene before Nightshade lost it with the twins. She too, had suffered comments like that when she had come out of hiding, and besides, she felt a motherly duty to protect the little femme. He managed to whisk the dagger from Nightshade's hand and shove the Twins out of her kicking range.

Wheeljack looked like a lost robopuppy without Firestar, his long time secret crush. The two had become nearly inseparable since the massive explosion months ago. Now Firestar had disobeyed orders and was currently serving as the youngling-sitter until Epsilon and Nightshade returned from the landing site.

Ratchet was mumbling incessantly, occasionally shooting Chromia worried glances. The femme had not reacted well to the 'surprise'. The normally tough femme was shaking, repeatedly placing her hand over her carrying tank to make sure her sparkling was still safe and sound. Thankfully, Nightshade was tending to her, distracting the other femmes around Chromia from the incriminating gesture. Chromia had specifically requested that Nightshade not say a word about the sparkling, not until she had delivered and Ironhide was ready to be teased within an inch of his life.

Prime finished with Jazz and Bumblebee, releasing them to the waiting Ironhide. The unmistakable growl that erupted from Ironhide's vocalizers had the mechs and femmes within a three hundred yard radius scurrying away.

Chromia finally stopped fretting over her sparkling. She allowed Nightshade to lead her to the front of the procession and to her rightful spot beside Elita. Nightshade gave the worried femme one last scan before releasing her from her care. Elita openly gazed at them, wondering what was so different about the pair. They had both been off for a few weeks but she could not pinpoint the problem, even though it hovered on the edge of her computing center, just out of her reach. Now, what on Cybertron could have both femmes so irritable and grouchy?

Prime finally finished his pre-guest go over of the gathered 'bots and hurried up to the very front of the line, satisfied with their general appearance. He gave a self-suffering sigh as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe began elbowing one another. Without even speaking, he sent them a glare that would have melted steel. It was the type of glare he reserved for the most stupid of acts, one that Ratchet would have been proud of. The Twins instantly shuffled back into their places, shooting Prime an apologetic grin.

Jazz and Bumblebee were cowering behind Ratchet, the one mech that not even Ironhide had the ball bearings to annoy. Ratchet shrugged at Ironhide before hissing to the two behind him to be quiet and leave him alone.

Finally, with a few well timed threats and glares, Prime managed to silence the large group of mechs and femmes. After a few tense minutes, the shuttle finally came into view. Of its own accord, an optical ridge on Prime's face rose higher and higher as the shuttle – no, wait, the ship – came closer and closer. A flurry of dust and leaves was sent up into the air as the ship hovered over the ground, preparing to land. Two magnetic pulses and a hiss from the steering jets later, the ship finally settled on the ground and cut the engines. One long breem passed before the door slid open. A ramp extended to the ground.

Ironhide felt his optics narrow to slits as the familiar, pompous mech swaggered into view. Emirate held his nasal plate so high in the air it was a wonder he did not fall over. A few small drones scurried behind him, carrying his luggage. There was a second bulge in the bottom of the ship. A second ladder descended to the ground. Instead of luggage and supplies sliding down the ramp, it was the refugees that staggered down the slippery slope. Prime felt the energon in his lines boil at the realization that Emirate had forced the refugees to ride in the cargo bay. The mechs and femmes stumbled slightly, their legs wobbly from the ride.

Elita's optics widened as she saw the group. There was the rest of her platoon! They stayed where they stood, their optics shuttered and tears streaming down their faces. They were finally home. Others gathered awkwardly, wondering what was going to happen next.

Prime was the first to speak.

"Emirate. How pleasant to see you," he said. Not an ounce of honesty was in his voice and Emirate knew it.

"It is a pleasure, Optimus Prime," Emirate said, bowing to him. Prime motioned for the mech to stand back up.

"And your guests are?"

"I do not know their names. I find it pointless to fraternize with someone below my station," Emirate said, turning a disgusted look over to the huddled group. Ratchet began running scans immediately. He bit down the snarl threatening to make its way out of his vocalizers and motioned to Red Alert.

"We need to get some energon into the smaller ones. They are a little too underenergized for my taste," he muttered quietly, sending acidic glares over to the mech that had caused the refugees so much grief. Emirate seemed unaffected by the glares of disgust that he received. He continued his surveillance of the group, studying the divisions. His optics alighted as they grazed over the femme half of the group. If that one pink female was there, then Chromia couldn't be too far away from her. Elita turned to reprimand one of her soldiers. He saw her then. Chromia was standing stock still, her optics fixed on the horizon. A lecherous smirk crossed his face.

Prime noticed Emirate's sudden smirk and he narrowed his optics by just a hair. Emirate noticed. His smirk grew wider. He was Emirate, lord and master of half of Iacon. He had every right to Chromia and what remained of her fortune. There was nothing any of the mechs present could have done or said to deter his plans – Chromia was going to be his, whether she liked it or not.

It was a little over four hours later before the refugees were all checked for viruses. Ironhide did a very good job of keeping Chromia just out of Emirate's reach. However, Emirate was bound to corner Chromia sooner or later, especially now that he and Prime left to retrieve energon for the refugees. She had been talking to Nightshade, discussing some bit of juicy gossip or another. Emirate took his time studying the femmes. Chromia was much more beautiful now that she was in her permanent frame. The smaller blue femme wasn't too bad looking, either. With a few upgrades to her armor, she could be as beautiful as Chromia. He then approached.

Chromia knew Emirate was behind her from the way Nightshade stiffened. Nightshade subconsciously rubbed her wrist compartment where her medical scanner was housed. If Emirate tried anything, he would find that scanner shoved somewhere unpleasant. The mech finally drew level with them. He didn't bother to hide the way his gaze lecherously traveled over their bodies. He was apparently pleased with what he saw, for he spoke to the femmes smoothly and seductively.

"Chromia, how utterly _pleasant _to see you once more," Emirate said, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles, "I've missed you ever so much."

Chromia did not answer and tugged her hand from his grip.

"Let's go, Nightshade," she muttered quietly, trying to get back to the main group.

"Now don't be that way, Chromia. Is that any way to greet me," Emirate said, looking and sounding offended, "Let's sit down and get reacquainted. After all, isn't trust required in a relationship?"

"Relationship? What the frag do you mean," Nightshade hissed, turning around and glaring at him. Emirate only patted her shoulder gently.

"Chromia must have explained to you who I am. We are soon-to-be bondmates. She has been promised to me, and by law, she must fulfill her duties," Emirate said slowly, as though explaining something to a particularly dimwitted youngling, "Now, out of my way femme."

Emirate pushed past Nightshade with his shoulder. She was quite unprepared for this action, but she managed to jump aside a little. She stumbled slightly and teetered before landing on the ground. She landed hard on her hand. It just so happened that she landed on her bad arm, the one that had been damaged long ago while training with Ironhide. Ratchet had replaced the gears in her elbow, yes, but they had completely forgotten about it. All of her weight transferred to her wrist and elbow, shattering the temporary gear and breaking a few other things.

"You _fragger_! How _dare _you push her!"

This, along with Nightshade's pained yelp and whimpering, drew quite a bit of attention to their corner of the landing site. Ratchet was unaware of the situation. He was patching up the remaining refugees. Ironhide was just returning from the base, carrying a load of energon.

Ironhide and Ratchet finally noticed the group gathered around the femmes. Emirate had Chromia by the upper arm, and Nightshade was sitting on the ground, wailing and clutching at her arm. Red Alert was kneeling beside her, trying to help her to her feet. Red Alert finally gave up and picked her up, setting her down on her feet.

Ratchet was three steps away from the group when Nightshade reacted. The femme was much smaller than Emirate but she was an angry femme. A very angry femme protecting not only _her _sparkling, but her friend and the sparkling _she_ carried. Nightshade was advancing on Emirate, who was still struggling with Chromia. Ironhide already had his cannons out and charged, the air around them snapping and crackling with the heat and electricity emanating from the impressive weapons.

Emirate paused. He had noticed the way Chromia was struggling. She wasn't trying to pull away from him…she was trying to guard her abdomen. Emirate sneered down at the femme.

"Carting around Ironhide's sparkling, are you," he said quietly. Chromia's optics widened as he advanced. How did he know? Her widened optics and sudden fear confirmed his accusation. He smiled to himself on the inside – he now had leverage over the femme.

"You see, Chromia, that little problem can be fixed with a few drops of a certain chemical…it would be a real shame if something like that were to happen to your child, wouldn't it?"

He continued at her silence.

"And no one would ever find out – the particular chemical I'm thinking of dissipates quickly with no trace…practically undetectable once ingested."

Fear was one of the strongest, negative emotions one could extort for gain. Fear could make any mech or femme crumble, especially if it was the fear of losing their bondmate or sparkling. Chromia would lose both – he could take care of the sparkling with an abortive agent and Ironhide with something a little more potent. Then, once Chromia was sparkbroken and vulnerable, he could reap his rewards and take her as his mate. It would take a bit of effort to replace Ironhide in her spark since they had been bonded for so long, but it would all be worth it in the end. He would have what was rightfully his. He continued speaking in that same soft voice.

"And if you were to lose your sparkling, it would leave your bond wide open for a few breems…and it would be absolutely terrible if someone were to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state, wouldn't it?"

Chromia gasped and shoved him away, fear consuming her spark. He _wouldn't_ do something like that…would he?

* * *

Sorry if it's a bit short, but…this dang chapter fought me tooth and nail, especially with Mr. Evil Armor at the end. Either Ironhide kick's Emirate's aft, no one finds out about the sparkling, and they live happily ever after OR…Emirate gets his way. D:


	37. In Which There is Deception

* * *

Chapter 37 – In Which There is Deception

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's. Ask before you take. Gracias!

"Carrying" belongs to Litahatchee. I'm only borrowing. :D

Aside from that...I don't really have anything to say...no witty observations...nothin'. D:

* * *

Nightshade hissed angrily, her pain dulled by the sudden anger in her spark.

How dare he threaten an unborn sparkling? How _dare_ he threaten to take the life of an innocent? Sparklings in their society were very precious, very rare blessings. Taking the life of one was considered to be one of their unforgivable sins. Even uttering a threat toward a sparkling or of forcing a bond on another was punishable. And in Emirate's case, since he had threatened to do both, he could consider himself permanently banished – or worse. If Prime was in a particularly cranky mood, he could allow Ironhide to challenge Emirate to a duel as reparation for his threats.

Ratchet recoiled from the anger emanating from Nightshade – what had Emirate said to Chromia to have frightened her so much and to anger Nightshade like that? Not in their four years together had Nightshade _ever_ been so angry, not to the point where she shook and her optics glowed white. The femme sprang to her feet and began circling around the mech, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Chromia shoved Emirate away and managed to take a few steps back. No one was prepared for Nightshade's next action. A swift kick from her strong legs and the mech was down and flat on his back, stars dancing across his processors. Nightshade snarled quietly, aiming a second kick to one of his cooling fans.

"You had better be glad that I got to you before my mate did. Otherwise, you'd be dead already," she hissed, crouching beside him. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, clutching her semi-useless arm to her chassis.

"You've got one joor to leave, or else I _will_ hunt you down and kill you," Nightshade growled.

"You'll never get away with attacking an unarmed Neutral," he hissed, glaring up at the femme. Nightshade shrieked in anger when she was suddenly picked up off of the mech and dragged out of the fight. Ratchet had her around the waist and Red Alert was running scans at a feverish pace, muttering quietly to Ratchet as they left the group and walked toward a more quiet area.

"Fraggit, Ratchet! If you don't let me go I am going to _hurt _you, I swear it to Primus above – let me go! I'm going to _kill_ that fragger," she snarled, struggling to get away from her mate's iron grip. After being elbowed twice and kicked once, Ratchet finally snapped at her.

"Nightshade, _desist _or I will sedate you," Ratchet said, tightening his grip enough to surprise her into silence, but not enough to hurt her. She squeaked and went still immediately. However, since her processes were still running hot, her temper came back with a vengeance.

"You even _try_ to sedate me Ratchet and you'll be recharging in the hallway for the rest of your life! You have _no right_ to sedate me! What he did is unforgivable –"

Ratchet set her down gently, gazing around to make sure they were alone. Now, Red Alert had been friends with Ratchet for millennia. There were very few mechs that knew Ratchet well enough to tell what moods he was experiencing. Red Alert was one of the few. And the tell-tale subtle twitching of the mech's optic and hands could only mean one thing: Ratchet was about to let loose a verbal lashing that could have cowed Megatron into submission.

Red Alert bravely tried to step in, but the glares he received from Ratchet and Nightshade sent him scurrying away toward the rest of the group. If that was the case, he would tend to Chromia. Nightshade's injuries were nowhere near as severe as the emotional and psychological pain Chromia was dealing with right now – she needed immediate medical attention. Red Alert didn't know what Emirate said, but it had to have been awful. Chromia could barely stand under her own power.

Once they were alone, Ratchet turned his gaze over at his mate. Nightshade was simmering quietly, her intake fans working at a feverish pace to cool her overheated core. Ratchet opened his mouth to speak, but Nightshade beat him to it.

"I don't know where you're coming from with that 'high and mighty' attitude of yours – "

"_My_ 'high and mighty attitude'? Please elaborate, Nightshade," Ratchet said, as calmly as he possibly could. In his psychological classes, he had been taught that if he stayed calm, so would his unruly patients. However, his psychological classes didn't apply to hormonal, enraged femmes. Nightshade went from being upset to downright homicidal in less than an astrosecond.

"Elaborate? _Elaborate?! _That fight was between Emirate and me. You had no right to interrupt – "

"I had every reason to," Ratchet responded quietly and softly, doing his absolute best to keep her calm. It did not work. Her internal temperatures skyrocketed.

"Oh, really now. And what makes you think that," she said, her voice clipped. Her hands were balled into fists by her sides, shaking slightly.

"He is an _unarmed_ Neutral, Nightshade. You may have not been around for the pact we signed with them, but we still have to uphold our promises. You are injured and you couldn't possibly fight him and it still be a fair fight. You're also carrying, Nightshade," he explained gently, moving toward her with outspread hands. He tried to soothe her through their bond but she immediately blocked him, sending him a sharp, reprimanding wave of disapproval. He recoiled at the stinging sensation, giving her the most hurt look he could muster.

"I don't fragging care if he's an 'unarmed Neutral'! He threatened my sparkling, he threatened my best friend, and he threatened _her_ sparkling! _I_ had every right to attack him," Nightshade said, making quotation marks in the air. Ratchet nodded.

"That may have been the case, Nightshade, but you still attacked him in front of several dozen witnesses."

"I don't care if I attacked him in front of _Prime_ himself, Ratchet! He had no right to say OR do what he did!"

"Nightshade, you need to calm down," he said gently. The sparkling was frightened - he could feel it through their bond. The tiny waves of distress and anxiety it sent directly to his spark were something he as its creator could not ignore. He had to fix what was wrong now. Nightshade tried to sidestep him but he moved quickly, effectively blocking her path.

"Move, Ratchet."

"No."

"_Ratchet._"

"I am not going to move."

"Fine," she snapped, trying to step around him. Ratchet gently grabbed her, restraining her.

"You are not going to fight with Emirate, Nightshade," he said evenly.

"And who are you to tell me what to do," she snapped, wriggling slightly in his tight grip. Ratchet shuttered his optics and counted slowly. He needed to be very, very patient with her, especially now that she was upset.

"Nightshade, I'm only doing what's best for you and our sparkling," he began gently.

"If you really wanted to do what was best you'd let me go and rip that fragger to bits," she responded, wriggling a bit more.

"Nightshade. Go back to the apartment while I sort this out, okay? You need to rest," he said, just as gently as before. She growled quietly – who was he to tell her what to do? He wasn't one of her creators! He had no right!

Ratchet could feel her simmering through their bond and braced himself for the explosion that was likely to follow.

"I am _not_ going back to the apartment. I am going to stay here," Nightshade said simply, squirming a bit harder. Ratchet growled quietly as his patience finally ran out.

"No. You're going back to the apartment while I talk to Prime, Nightshade. If I have to make it a direct order, I will," he snapped.

"You wouldn't dare," she hissed back at him. Ratchet's optics narrowed at the femme's challenge.

"As Chief Medical Officer, I am _ordering _you to go back to our apartment and rest. I will fix your arm as soon as I'm finished with Prime," he said. As he spoke, he felt her stiffen in his arms.

"_Ratchet –_"

"Either you do as I say or I will put you in the brig myself," he said, the barest hint of a warning in his voice. Ratchet didn't care if he had to drag her down to the brig and sedate her – their sparkling was in distress. Their sparkling came first. Nightshade sighed heavily before nodding. He let her go.

"I'll go back to the apartment," she said quietly, her shoulders sagging. He softened slightly, gently pulling her into an embrace.

"I know you're upset, Nightshade, and I know you had every right to attack him for what he said, but you were hurting our sparkling," he said quietly. He heard her gasp quietly.

"Oh Primus, is it alright, Ratchet? Please tell me I didn't – "

She fell silent, her shoulders shaking. Ratchet almost felt guilty for telling her that, but she was harming the little one with her unsuppressed rage. She needed to know and understand the effects of extreme negative emotions were on sparklings.

"It will be fine, Nightshade. Please don't be upset," he said quietly, hugging her tightly, "Now please go and rest. I will have Chromia escort you back, alright? I want you to stay with her. She can recharge with you tonight if need be."

Nightshade nodded and tried to dry her tears while he called Chromia over. The femmes hung back for a few minutes, watching as their respective mates tried to sort things out.

* * *

Ratchet slowly made his way back to the assembled group, watching as Prime helped Emirate to his feet. Ironhide had been restrained by eight or so of the assembled mechs and calmed to the point where he was not thirsty for Emirate's energon. Ratchet drew abreast of Red Alert and stood silently until he spoke.

"Chromia is shaken, but she will be fine. Your sparkling is fine as well. Emirate is demanding 'reparations' for what Nightshade did to him," Red Alert muttered quietly, "Primus…you know she's going to have to answer to Prime in front of a _court_. You said you wanted to keep you-know-what a secret but if she doesn't give a damn good reason for what she did, she'll be in the brig for a very, very, _very_ long time!"

"I know," Ratchet said, sighing heavily and shuttering his optics.

At the sudden feeling of defeat in their bond, Nightshade recoiled slightly. What was going on? She and Chromia edged back toward the group, hiding behind a tree as best as they could.

* * *

Ironhide and Ratchet cornered Prime soon after the incident. As both mechs made to speak, Prime interrupted by putting his hands up.

"Chromia refuses to tell me what Emirate said. I cannot punish him for something that she will not testify. Even if Chromia tells you what he said, Ironhide, I can't do anything. The original accuser must testify. However, he will be punished for assaulting both femmes," he said wearily. At the triumphant look on the mech's faces, he continued.

"But so will Nightshade – quiet, Ratchet. Let me finish. The minimum time for her offences is almost twelve orns…unless you can come up with an excuse for her actions," Prime said quietly. Ratchet nodded.

"Isn't there somethin' you can do," Ironhide asked quietly.

"No, Ironhide. I've already rewritten the Book of Codes for you and Chromia. I let my friendship with you get in the way of my duties to rule without prejudice. I can't interfere any more," Optimus said, steeling himself.

"Is there any chance of you convincing Nightshade to testify in Chromia's stead," Optimus said, turning his gaze over at Ratchet.

"I will speak with her," Ratchet said. He gazed around, smiling slightly at the twin blue streaks dashing behind a tree – they had gotten bad at spying. He shook his head slightly and turned back to Optimus.

"Prime…I…I know why she did it," Ratchet said quietly. Prime turned to Ratchet.

"She…was upset," Ratchet said. Prime rolled his optics, exasperated.

"I know she was upset, Ratchet!"

"Emirate threatened to…ah…Ironhide?"

Prime looked at his two friends, giving them calculating looks. What were they keeping from him?

"That fragger threatened to killmahsparklin'andme," Ironhide blurted out, refusing to meet Prime's optics.

"He threatened to do what," Optimus asked, unable to decipher what Ironhide had muttered.

"He threatened to kill mah sparkling, kill me, and take Chromia by force. You'd better be glad Nightshade got to 'im before I did," Ironhide said bluntly, flexing the massive cannons on his arms. Prime recoiled and shook his head in disbelief.

"You have a _what_? A sp- oh, Primus help us all," Optimus groaned, covering his optics.

"Fraggit, Prime! Get your head out of your exhaust and listen to him," Ratchet snapped, raising one hand and making a fist at Optimus. Optimus shuddered slightly.

"That is more than enough evidence to justify Nightshade's actions…if Chromia and Nightshade will testify," Optimus said, a small smile on his face. Ironhide and Ratchet both nodded, twin smirks on their faces. Finally, justice could be served! So caught up were the mechs in their celebration that they did not notice the small silver drone crouched in the forest, just a few yards away from them. They also did not notice Emirate disappearing back into his ship, or the phial that he slipped into a subspace pocket when he finally did emerge.

* * *

Twin growls alerted Optimus to Emirate's approach. Both arms shot out, effectively blocking Ironhide and Ratchet from leaping onto the mech. It took Optimus and Ratchet a few seconds to wrestle Ironhide's cannons back into their subspace pockets. Finally, after a long breem or two, Optimus turned to Emirate, who had been watching the exchange with a neutral expression.

"Yes, Emirate," Prime asked, silently thinking that the mech had serious ball bearings to approach the two males.

"Sir, I wish to extend my deepest apologies," Emirate said, bowing to Prime. Ratchet and Ironhide shared a calculating look – why was he apologizing? They turned back to the mech.

"Very well. What are you apologizing for," Optimus asked, holding Ironhide back with one hand. Ratchet finally disabled Ironhide's cannons by twisting a few transformation gears.

"I wish to extend my apologies to you, to Chromia's mate, and the mate of the little blue femme. I do not know her name, sir. I apologize for that as well. My actions were uncalled for and disgusting," Emirate said, bowing even deeper, hiding his smirk, "What I did was unforgivable – I harmed a femme and accosted another. I have no excuses for my actions. What the little blue femme did to me was nowhere near enough punishment for what I did, and I ask – no, I _beg­_ – that you do not punish her. She had every right to abuse me. I beg that you bend the law this once and allow me to serve her punishment."

Optimus stared at the mech, surprised at his long-winded apology. What shocked him more was the fact that he _did_ apologize. Back on Cybertron, this mech had been notorious for his arrogance and pomp.

"I have prepared a written apology to each femme and her mate, as well as to you, sir, and a public apology. I cannot let my actions go unaccounted for, sir. I ask that you punish me and allow me to make reparations for everything that I have done," Emirate said. Prime relented.

"Very well, Emirate. I forgive you for pushing Nightshade and accosting Chromia. However, you will have to ask these two for forgiveness. I want those apologies on my desk no later than sundown today. Understood?"

"Yes, sir, and I thank you for allowing me the chance to apologize," Emirate said, hiding his smirk and rising from his bow. Optimus gave him a curt nod.

"You will be in the brig tonight and tomorrow night. We will hold the hearing the morning after that. If Nightshade is found guilty, you _will_ be serving her full term as well as yours. Do you understand?"

Emirate nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, of course, sir. Is there anything else that I may do?"

"No. Remember that the hearing is going to begin at sunrise. Be sure to select a competent representative, Emirate. Prowl and Barricade will escort you to the brig. They will explain the rules to you on the way," Prime said, bowing his head to Emirate. Prowl and Barricade showed up shortly afterwards, their optics narrowed at the mech.

"Follow me," Prowl said crisply, motioning toward the mech. Emirate nodded, falling into line immediately. Barricade made up the end of the line, with a stun-gun in one hand. Optimus watched the trio with narrowed optics. He sent Prowl a short message.

**Keep an optic on him at all times, Prowl.**

_**Understood, sir.**_

As Prime turned, he could have sworn that he saw something disappear into an escape hatch on Emirate's ship. He shook his head and brushed it off – he had new refugees and their housing to worry about. The civilian half of the base was almost completed. They still had to finish wiring the electricity and waste disposal and they would be able to start moving the civilians in. The rest of Elita's platoon would have to be housed with others. He smiled slightly – Elita was extremely protective of her femmes. She would not allow them to room with other mechs. Distracted by his thoughts, he turned away from Emirate's ship.

He missed the escape hatch opening and depositing two drones onto the ground.

They disappeared into the trees.

* * *

Eek! What happens next? And yes, Nightshade is being quite irrational. But if someone threatened your little one, would you stop and think about being nice?


	38. In Which There is Urgency

Chapter 38

Disclaimer: I only own my OCs. Ask before you take.

"Carrying" belongs to Litahatchee. (BTW, Lita - HAH. ANOTHER ONE.)

I have a poll up in my bio. Y'all get to pick what kind of smut y'all want me to write. Have at it.

Warnings: Lots of blood...er. Energon. And angst. Lots of the latter.

* * *

Emirate shuffled around his cell, turning his nasal plates up at the uncomfortable looking recharge berth. He knew that Prime had rewritten the Book of Codes. None of that mattered now. Once he had Chromia on his ship, all he had to do was order the drones to free him and they would leave. Emirate had done a careful scan of the base before landing – Prime had three space-capable ships, though none of them were battle operative. His ship was a warship-turned-luxury-liner. He had kept all of the weapons systems and such, but had disguised them as parts of the ship.

Emirate could not praise the mech he had conned into redesigning the ship. For the work to have been forced out of someone, it was the best the mech could do. The ship was luxurious – oil baths on every floor, gilded elevators, and viewing screens in every room. Not to mention the femme he had bought – she was a piece of artwork all in herself. Gold strips decorated the femme's beautifully proportioned body and lithe limbs. Her face was rather plain, but that didn't matter because it wasn't her face he was interested in.

He finally took a seat in one of the chairs, propping his feet up. Emirate turned his communicator on and watched as his drone transmitted live video feed. Ah, they were in a party. Too bad it was too dim for them to notice the drone, Emirate thought victoriously. He slouched in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head.

The show was about to begin.

* * *

The spindly silver drone hid in the rafters, watching as mechs and femmes passed underneath its hiding spot. It beeped quietly once it saw its target – the blue femme. The blue femme picked up a cube of high grade and went back to where she had been sitting. The femme excused herself from the group and left the party, heading out of the hangar. The drone slipped after her silently, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

She paused in the hallway and turned around, seemingly sensing something behind her. She saw nothing and continued on her way. The cube in her hand glinted temptingly, but the drone knew it had to wait, otherwise its master would be very, very unhappy with it. The femme disappeared into a room. The drone followed close behind and immediately leapt behind a pillar. Its scans indicated that this room of the facility was the recreation-and-refueling area. The drone waited until she had set her high grade down to move. It dropped the pellet into the drink and hid once more.

The femme grumbled quietly and flicked the light on.

_That is the wrong femme! You've wasted the last of the abortive agent, you foolish piece of scrap metal!_

But the orders came too late – the femme had already picked up the cube of high grade and drunk from it.

* * *

Nightshade grimaced from the bitter swig of the high grade. What had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe added to the mixture? Whatever it was, it was _nasty._ She tossed the rest of the high grade into a bin and reached for a spare cube. She had planned on getting Ratchet some of the high grade from their quarters, but energon seemed good enough at the moment. Besides, she was hungry.

Nightshade smiled. It had been a very long time since they had all let loose and had fun, hadn't it? Primus only knew how much Red Alert needed the break – he was juggling two jobs! She shook her head slightly, reaching up to pull the lever to fill her cube. Sudden pain lanced across her abdomen, but before she could move, it disappeared. Nightshade planted her hand over her carrying tank, her spark fluttering in fear. Her sparkling was still pulsating away happily. She breathed a sigh of relief, pulling the lever on the energon dispenser.

The door to the rec room opened. She heard three very familiar voices – two were arguing, the third was begging them to stop. She turned to the voices, a smirk on her face. Elita and Chromia were at it _again_, sniping at one another as only sisters could. Epsilon froze in her tracks, her optics wide.

"Hello, you three. What are you up to," Nightshade asked teasingly, taking a sip of her energon. Chromia and Elita turned her way, but they too froze upon seeing her.

"What's the matter? Why are you staring at me?"

"Nightshade…," Epsilon breathed, her optics wide in horror.

Elita and Chromia had frozen in their spots. It was then that she felt the warmth sliding down her legs. Her spark frozen in its casing, she glanced down. The energon cube in her hand dropped to the floor and shattered into tiny pieces when she saw what the femmes were gaping at.

Energon was steadily pouring from the gaps in the sheets on her abdomen, dripping down onto her legs. Sudden, agonizing pain shot across her abdomen, unbearable heat spreading across her body. She cried out, clutching at her abdomen. The sparkling was pulsating erratically, letting its distress be known. At her cry of pain, Elita and Chromia darted forwards, slipping slightly in the puddle of energon surrounding their friend.

"Nightshade, oh, Primus," Chromia cried out, her systems on high alert, "Call Ratchet, Epsilon!"

"Get…Red…and Moon Racer…," Nightshade managed to gasp out, struggling not to scream in agony. Elita and Chromia, while confused by the request, assumed that Ratchet already knew. They were bonded, after all. Elita wrapped an arm around the femme's waist, trying to lead her to the medical bay.

* * *

Prowl and Ratchet had been discussing something or another, nothing of great importance. The party was quiet, anxiety and tension thickening the air and subduing the party-goers. Emirate's trial was tomorrow. Tomorrow they would find out whether or not the mech would be punished. Tommorow they would find out if Ironhide would finally have his chance to right what wrongs Emirate had commited against Chromia. Prowl jumped slightly when Ratchet dropped his barrel of high grade. Prowl barely had time to react when the mech suddenly dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest.

The pain that consumed his spark was absolutely agonizing. Ratchet hardly registered the Prowl was asking him if he was alright, asking him what was the matter, asking him if he needed assistance. Ratchet cried out as the pain intensified. He couldn't feel Nightshade through the bond. He couldn't feel the sparkling.

_The sparkling_.

He tried to get to his feet, tried to get to his sparkling, but the sheer agony sent him back down. Ratchet continued struggling against Prowl's grasp, struggling to get to his mate and fix whatever was going wrong. His spark was in turmoil, alternating between ice-cold fear and hot anger, but he couldn't think straight - what was happening? Why was their bond getting foggy? Why was their sparkling so distressed? Ratchet's intake fans momentarily stopped as he clutchd his chest with both hands tightly, so tightly that he scraped some of his paint off. Nightshade's pain intensified. Her spark started to flutter, dimming and brightening. She was crashing.

"Ratchet, you've got to put a firewall up and tell me what is the matter," Prowl said, shaking Ratchet from the pain-induced fog surrounding his spark. Ratchet threw up a haphazardly coded firewall. The code began to break down almost instantly.

"Medical bay, now," Ratchet whispered hoarsely, allowing Ironhide to help him to his feet. Together, Prowl and Ironhide managed to drag Ratchet to his feet and haul him to the medical bay.

* * *

Moon Racer's panicked transmission jolted Red Alert from his recharge sequence. The mech leapt from the recharge berth, sending Inferno flat on his aft onto the ground.

" – _Oh Primus_, Red Alert, I need you in the medical bay, she's lost _so much energon_ – "

"What's going on," Red Alert asked, his spark all but freezing in its casing as he ran out of the room.

"Someone poisoned Nightshade," Moon Racer sobbed out, "I don't know what to do, Red Alert, I just don't know – "

"Is she there? I'm in the west wing right now, about a minute out – "

"I saw her a minute ago, I'm preparing a room for her, Red Alert, _what do I do_?"

"Calm down, first of all. You need to keep her firewalls up, no matter what it takes. Do you understand?"

Though confused by his order, she nodded slowly. Why would her firewalls need to be up? What would her antiviral programs attack? She shook the thoughts away and spoke into her comm. line. Red Alert knew what he was doing. She had to trust him.

"Y-yes, of course. What else do I need to do?"

"You need to start flushing her systems. Start with her energon lines. Once those are started, move to the oil lines and buffer fluids."

"Red, she could _die_…"

"If you keep her firewalls up, she'll have a fighting chance. Now get your aft in motion, Moon Racer! You're a trained medic – _act like it_."

"Yes, sir."

"Frag – I'll be a few minutes. Gotta get Ratchet up on his feet."

"What – "

The line clicked off. Static poured from the open line. Moon Racer shook where she stood. What was she going to do? Epsilon burst into the room, holding the door open as Chromia and Elita carried Nightshade into the room. Moon Racer steeled herself – she had a friend to save.

* * *

"Epsilon, get me energon out of storage. You two - set her down there," Moon Racer barked out. Epsilon disappeared into storage and began searching for emergency energon rations. After a few moments of frenzied searching, Epsilon found a full box. She pushed the crate into the room. She took up post beside Moon Racer, opening the bags and handing them to her. After they had set up a few lines, Moon Racer leaned down to speak gently into Nightshade's audio receptor.

"Nightshade? Listen to me. You need to keep your firewalls up. Your antiviral programs are running haywire at the moment. _Keep your firewalls up_," Moon Racer said. She dug around near Nightshade's fuel tank, searching for the main line leading away from the tank. The poison was concentrated in her fuel tanks and spreading through the fuel lines quickly. Rerouting the line out of her body would keep the poison from spreading any further.

Moon Racer clamped the processing line where it branched off. Then she cut the line, soldering it to a few yards of rubber tubing. The end dangled into a barrel she had dragged close by. Moon Racer flinched when she saw the thick, viscous liquid pour from the end. The purple fluid dribbled into the barrel. She'd been given something potent. Moon Racer bit her lip and steadied herself. Someone really wanted Nightshade dead. Luckily, the femme had ingested very little of the poison. It became easier for Nightshade to keep her firewalls up as the tainted fluids were flushed out of her body.

"Elita, get over here and solder those emergency energon lines to these lines. I need to get the lubricants flushed from her system," Moon Racer said, motioning to Elita. Elita's optics widened and she opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't you dare argue with me, Elita. I know you're trained in basics. Get your aft over here, _now_," Moon Racer snarled quietly, her hands moving over the exposed lines in Nightshade's neck. The femme was hovering in and out of stasis lock, but she was determined to keep her sparkling alive. Now that the poisons were being flushed from her body, her systems were starting to relent. The antiviral programs were starting to shut down now that her body knew it wasn't being attacked any more. Her sparkling would be safe for now. Nightshade let her head drop back onto the table. It was getting so hard to keep her thoughts straight. _So _hard.

Ratchet reached to her through the bond and she reached back weakly, sending him a short burst of love before she shut down, unable to keep the bond open anymore.

Moon Racer gave Nightshade's lubricant lines the same treatment. The normally royal blue lubrication fluid was now pitch black. It fairly oozed from her lines, thickened by metallic toxins. Moon Racer hovered nervously, doing her best to keep Nightshade's optics open and running. The femme was starting to crash.

"Chromia, get more lubricant from the storage room. They should be in the white box on the floor," Moon Racer said, setting up the last bag she had. Chromia nodded and hurried into storage. There were at least thirty unmarked boxes on the floor!

"Which white box? There are so many in here."

"The one labeled as lubrication fluid – what do you mean? That room should be empty! Never mind, get it over here," Moon Racer said. Ratchet had probably ordered extra supplies. She didn't need to worry about the extra boxes at the moment.

Red Alert arrived not a breem later with the three mechs behind him. He leapt into action immediately. He shooed everyone but Ratchet out of the room. Then he began mixing an accelerant cocktail. Ratchet spluttered.

"Red Alert! What are you doing?! You can't administer accelerant while she's carrying!"

"I know I can't. Go get the sparkling's shell. I'm going to induce labor before her systems crash," Red Alert said quietly. Ratchet swore loudly, shaking his head.

"No! She'll be _three_ months early, the sparkling won't survive the transfer," Ratchet said, flailing his arms and generally panicking.

"Her spark is failing as it is, Ratchet. If her systems crash while she's carrying, you'll lose them both," Red Alert said gently, watching as his friend's face fell.

"Is there anything you can do for our sparkling?"

Red Alert tore his gaze away from Ratchet's pleading glance. He shook his head.

"If it is strong enough to survive the birth, it will have a good chance of surviving. Otherwise…I'm sorry," Red Alert said quietly, doing his best to remain distant and professional However, Red Alert couldn't help but to reach to his friend. Ratchet had suffered so much in his life. Now he was on the verge of losing his mate and sparkling.

"I'll do everything in my power, Ratchet," Red Alert said quietly before sterilizing his hands in a nearby sink.

Ratchet could not speak.

* * *

(ducks bricks, books, computer monitors, throwing darts)

Yeah, yeah. Throw whatever you want, but make it creative. I need a laugh right about now.


	39. In Which There is Anxiety

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Rated PG-16 for really, really painful medical procedures, angst, and cursing.

Just an FYI: A "carrying tank" is situated in the lower abdomen. This is where the "spark" forms. The "carrying hold" is situated in the chest by the femme's spark. The newly created "sparkling" – which is a basic frame, spark box, wires, basic memory, and basic fuel processing unit – is carried there until it is strong enough for the extras to be integrated into its systems. The extras consist of more motor cables and such, boosting the sparkling's ability to be in the outside environment. Before it is upgraded, however, the femme will do everything for the sparkling, including processing the fuel for it, regulating its temperature, and stimulating the sparkling. Basically, it's still developing and it's still dependent on the femme.

And I wish I could go more in depth.

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee. :)

The EMP blast idea belongs to TF:Animated.

* * *

Elita felt her spark freeze in its casing as Ratchet hurried out of the surgical bay. What was happening now? Moon Racer rose from her perch, shrugging at Elita. She had just been kicked out, now Red Alert wanted her back in the room? As strange as the mech's actions had been, she dared not question him and hurried into the room.

"Elita, Chromia, and Epsilon, please come with me," Ratchet said. Though he felt like shaking like a terrified youngling, his voice and body betrayed none of his fear. He seemed almost at ease, his voice cool and serene. Chromia, Elita, and Epsilon followed Ratchet into the room.

Moon Racer was setting up another round of energon into the femme's fuel lines, trying to rouse Nightshade from her stasis lock. For a long minute, the femme did not stir, but eventually, her optics powered up. Almost instantly, she cried out and clutched at her abdomen, muttering obscenities under her breath. Moon Racer shrugged at Elita once more. What was going on? The door shut behind the trio. The accelerant cocktail had done wonders for Nightshade – her spark was flaring quickly and erratically, but at least it was back up to its normal strength, and it would stay that way with a bit of luck.

"Elita, would you please call Day Lily down here?"

"Alright," Elita said, her confusion growing by the moment. What _the slag_was going on? She fell silent as Red Alert hurried back into the room, carrying a bundle of some kind. Even though the bundle was wrapped up firmly, she could see something metallic glinting as Red Alert hurried past her. Then she realized what it was. Elita covered her mouth with her hands, now fully understanding why the mechs in the room were so urgent. Feeling more useless than ever, she hovered in the background, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do.

Epsilon hovered beside Nightshade, torn between comforting the femme and launching herself into Chromia's arms. Nightshade's pained whimpers grew louder and Epsilon decided that comforting her mentor was more important. Epsilon stood beside Ratchet, holding Nightshade's hand and doing her best to soothe and ease Nightshade's pain.

"Back up, Epsilon," Red Alert said, sterilizing his hands quickly. The energon leak had stopped and the poison had been flushed from her systems, but Nightshade was now even more poorly energized. At a loss of what to do, the other three femmes hung back in the corner, with Epsilon clinging to Chromia. Ratchet and Moon Racer darted around one another, setting up equipment and soothing the whimpering femme gently.

"Ratchet, what's going on," Chromia asked quietly, allowing Epsilon to bury her face into her shoulder. Ratchet froze and stared at the femmes.

"Nightshade didn't tell you?"

"I was going to do it at the party – _frag_that hurts, Red Alert! Warn a femme next time, would you?! – but I guess it can't wait until then," Nightshade grunted softly, clutching Ratchet's hand so tightly that the gears in his hand whined in protest. The accelerant had pretty much jumpstarted her spark – and inflamed her temper.

"What can't wait until then…oh!"

Chromia fell silent as Red Alert unwrapped the bundle and removed the contents. Epsilon's optics widened in surprise and shock, her mouth moving silently. Elita gasped as he gently lifted the sparkling's shell from the blankets, setting it down on a table beside Nightshade. Chromia's optics widened and the femmes stared at one another, at a loss of what to do. Elita finally led the way – she had been present for one sparkling's online. She and the other femmes in the room were supposed to guide Nightshade through the process.

The only problem was that not a single femme in the room had ever given birth to a sparkling before. Nightshade let out an audio splitting scream as the pain intensified. Chromia clutched at Nightshade's other hand, soothingly rubbing her arm. Moon Racer, having overcome her shock, went and gathered the supplies Red Alert had asked for. Elita and Epsilon hovered nearby, watching anxiously as Red Alert began gently probing Nightshade's abdomen. He shook his head subtly to Ratchet, who shuttered his optics.

"What's the matter," Elita snapped, rubbing Nightshade's shoulder gently. Red Alert sighed gently.

"The inducing agent isn't working how it should be. Her body isn't reacting to it. We're going to have to go in and remove it manually. It's going to hurt, Nightshade, but I need you to cooperate with me," Red Alert said. The regular 'birthing' process normally wasn't too painful – the femme's abdominal scales would loosen enough to be pushed out of the way to expose her carrying tank. The carrying tank itself would have been relatively easy to open. Removing the sparkling was normally done with a set of 'tongs', but since they were delivering the sparkling over three months early, Red Alert would have to do everything for her body.

Nightshade let out a pitiful whimper as Red Alert moved closer, a cutting device in his hands. Red Alert looked at the frightened femme and sighed gently.

"Nightshade, I can't give you painkillers. You need to be able to feel what's happening so you'll know if something goes wrong," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on her leg, "But you can turn your pain receptors down to fifty percent. That's all I can allow you to do."

Nightshade nodded feebly, shuttering her optics as Red Alert sat down beside her. The medic strapped her legs down, avoiding optic contact with her. Red Alert had only done something like once and it hadn't been pretty. The femme had shorted out her vocal processors before attacking him.

"Where are her creators," Ratchet asked Elita quietly, desperately hoping that someone who knew what they were doing would show up.

"On their way," Elita said softly, watching Red Alert sterilize Nightshade's abdomen. Ratchet shooed Elita out of the way, holding Nightshade's hand and allowing her to bury her face into his shoulder. There was hurried pounding on the door and Epsilon turned. She let them in. A very calm and collected Day Lily led a fritzed out Crosswise into the room. As soon as she walked into the room, Day Lily knew exactly what was going to happen to Nightshade. Day Lily clucked softly, knowing fully well just how painful it was going to be. Chromia moved out of the way and Day Lily stood on Nightshade's other side, stroking her arm and shoulder soothingly.

Red Alert picked up the cutting tool and Ratchet pulled Nightshade's face into his chest so that she wouldn't see. He could feel her shaking in his arms and it was all he could do not to shake along with her. Red Alert nodded to Ratchet, who turned his head away. He lowered the device and began to cut away the metal. Nightshade tensed and began whimpering quietly. Day Lily continued her rhythmic stroking of Nightshade's arm, her soft comforting clicks never wavering.

Red Alert pulled the metal away, ignoring her shrill cry of protest. Beneath her armor lay her shell and he raised the tool once more. He began to cut the metal away, his hand and demeanor steady. Nightshade screamed, struggling against Ratchet's grip. He held her more tightly, whispering his apologies over and over, begging her to forgive him.

Finally, Red Alert managed to finish cutting away the metal, peeling it backwards. He winced as he saw what had happened inside of her abdomen. Her body had recognized the poison as something that didn't belong in there and had booted up antiviral software. The problem was that the nanites also attacked her sparkling. If it would have succeeded, the sparkling would have been broken down. Thankfully, Nightshade managed to keep her firewalls up long enough for her body to relent in its attack. The nanites had clogged a fuel line and it had ruptured, thus causing the major energon leak. Her systems managed to seal it off before the energy loss was too great. Red Alert gently pushed the bundles of wires out of the way, placing a thick seal over the jagged mark.

Then he gently pressed on her carrying tank, gauging how far along her body was in reacting to the inducing agent. To his immense relief, it opened on its own, earning a squeak of surprise from Nightshade. The sparkling, however, was another matter entirely. If she had carried it for the full six months, the sparkling's mass would have pushed the wires in her abdomen out of the way, creating a sort of 'nest' that was quite easy to access. Nightshade's sparkling was tangled within the many wires and lines that crisscrossed her carrying tank. He shuttered his optics, weighing his options. He could try to use the tongs to pull it out, but there was the very likely possibility that the tongs would cut or tear the wires. She would never conceive again. If he used his hand, however, to gently push the wires and lines out of the way, he could create a pocket for the sparkling to be removed.

Red Alert stood up and went back to the sink, sterilizing his hands once more. He nodded to Moon Racer, who immediately began sterilizing the sparkling's shell and spark casing. She pushed the table closer before parting the chest plates and opening its spark box. Nightshade gave a mighty shudder. Ratchet winced as her fingers tightened around him, leaving finger shaped dents. Ratchet looked down into his mate's carrying tank and realized what Red had to do to save them both. He gently wrapped his presence around her spark, easing her pain the best that he could.

Nightshade shuddered again, knowing that the worst was yet to come. Day Lily whispered quietly.

"Nightshade, you need to relax. Red Alert is doing everything possible that he can to get the sparkling out and into its shell. It will go by faster if you take down your self defense systems," Day Lily said, kissing the top of her daughter's head. Ratchet nodded, surprised that Day Lily knew what to do. Nightshade obeyed, feeling strangely vulnerable without the familiar vibrating energy coursing through her shell.

Red Alert came back and sat down.

"Nightshade, this is going to hurt like the dickens, but you need to stay still. If I slip, your carrying abilities could be damaged," Red Alert said. Nightshade gave him a weak, cheeky grin and winked.

"Bring it on, Red," she whispered tiredly, shuttering her optics. Red Alert nodded to Ratchet, who resumed his tight grip around her upper body. Red Alert shuttered his optics and sent a quick prayer upwards before moving. He also sent a text out around the room, warning the occupants to turn their audios down to ten percent receiving capability. Once they had obeyed, Red Alert moved.

One hand gently pushed against the bare, sensitive wires in her abdomen, the other moving further into the buffer fluid to retrieve the spark. Nightshade let out a mighty shriek, tensing. Red Alert had to give her points though, for she obeyed and did not move an inch. He found the spark cowering in the very back of the femme's carrying tanks. He tried to scoop it up gently, earning another scream from Nightshade, along with a few very nasty curses and threats to his health if he did not move faster.

"Fraggit, Ratchet, this is all _your_ fault," she bellowed, wincing as Red Alert continued trying to corner the little spark, "I'm going to _fragging_ remove your interface port and never mate with you again!"

Ratchet only soothed her gently. He knew better than to take offense to her threat. She was in severe pain. If spouting threats to his interface appliance eased her pain, so be it. He was ready to give her a welder and tell her to have at it, if it made her feel any better.

"RED ALERT! Inferno won't be a happy mech if you don't _move your arse_! You'll be joining Ratchet on the 'no-interface-port' list!" She shrieked again, her hand tightening around Ratchet's.

Red Alert smiled at the femme's cheeky and rather creative threats, moving faster for both her sake and his. He finally managed to scoop the spark into his hand. Red Alert withdrew from her carrying tanks, cradling the spark in a metallic blanket. In that instant, her physical link to the sparkling was broken. Nightshade instantly began squirming – where was her sparkling? Where was he taking it?

She didn't even notice Moon Racer shutting her carrying tank, or gently working her shell back into place and welding it back together. She didn't notice the heat of the welding torch on her armor, or the sting of the sterilizing solution Moon Racer cleaned her off with. All she wanted was her sparkling, and she wanted it now. Its presence faded as Red Alert moved toward the table and Nightshade began panicking, struggling against Ratchet. She couldn't see the spark in Red Alert's hands, causing her spark to flutter painfully against its casing. Ratchet grunted softly as Nightshade elbowed him, her struggles growing stronger as Red Alert hovered over the sparkling's shell.

"Nightshade, the sparkling is fine, Red won't harm it," Ratchet said firmly, trying to break her from her panic induced flailing. Nightshade whined softly as her mate finally managed to get through to her and she ceased her struggling, but continued her panicked calls to her sparkling through their bond. She trusted her mate and his judgment, she honestly did, but her child came first, and she couldn't feel its presence within her any more.

Red Alert held the spark out to the spark case. It did not move except to cling to his hand, almost as though it was begging to be put back into its original home. The spark emitted a few weak flashes of light, appearing to be confused. It didn't move. Red Alert held it closer to the box but it still wouldn't move in. He gingerly tipped his hand upwards, watching as the spark finally shot into the box. Wires and lines instantaneously wrapped around the box, protecting the little spark. He immediately wrapped it in another blanket.

Nightshade struggled against Ratchet once more when Red Alert turned and she could see Red Alert cradling the sparkling in his outstretched hands, the both of which suddenly appeared too big for her liking. Red Alert cautiously approached her and held the sparkling to her. Nightshade latched onto her child, clutching it to her chest and clicking softly. The others in the room withdrew to a safe distance, watching with bated breath. Nightshade clutched at its fingers, clicking softly.

It didn't move. Nightshade clicked softly, trying to urge her sparkling into moving. Ratchet's grip around her tightened as he sagged against her. Red Alert moved closer, trying his best to remain professional and distant. It was spark breaking to watch the small blue femme trying to rouse the motionless shell. Red Alert placed one hand on Ratchet's shoulder. Ratchet looked up at him and Red Alert shook his head. If the sparkling hadn't taken to its shell by now, there wasn't any reason to let Nightshade try and bond with it.

"Please…go," Nightshade whispered quietly, staring down at the tiny frame lying in her arms. She could feel its spark flickering, she could feel it fighting to live and she'd be damned if she let anyone in the room interfere with their bonding. A weak presence latched onto hers and she shuttered her optics, leaning over the motionless sparkling in her arms. If it lived for just a few more minutes, just long enough for its body to start processing…maybe it would have a chance.

Red Alert, having assumed the worst, ushered everyone else out of the room. He remained in the doorway, standing guard over the occupants of the room.

* * *

I hate sunburns. :P

Did everyone have a happy Fourth of July? (If you celebrate it, that is.)


	40. In Which There is SmutX3

Chapter 40: In Which There is SmutX3

Thanks to **autumn­sparrow, **who was kind enough to read this!

Also, I've started two more stories - WID: What You Didn't Know. It's basically an extension to the first three chapters of this story. If you're interested, it'll be under stuff that I've written. For a more mature audience, I've begun a story called Shameless. It's really raunchy and can only be found at my LJ. If you're interested in that one (and you are 18), go to my author's profile thingie. The links are listed in order, so you don't have to go fishing all over my LJ. I think that's it.

Anyway.

Y'all know the drill – there is smut in this chapter. If you're not 18, you shouldn't be reading this, even though it's just botsmut. Comments, complaints, and concerns can be mailed via PM system. If you see any misspelled words or blatant abominations to the English language, lemme know, please? Thanks!

This chapter takes place the day before the birth scene.

* * *

_Early Friday afternoon, miles and worlds away…_

"Wheeljack?"

"Yes, Firestar?"

The mech turned to look at the femme lying in the grass beside him. Wheeljack and Firestar had escaped from the base for a few hours. Now they were lying in a nearby valley, observing the wildlife. Wheeljack smiled internally at the turn of events. At first, he had thought the femme to be nothing short of crazy and rude, but now that he had gotten to know her, his spark sang at the mere mention of her name. Ever since the accident in the science wing a few months ago, they had become nearly inseparable. Firestar, with her inherent curiosity, was a breath of fresh air in his life. Not to mention her love of explosives.

"Does…"

The femme trailed off and watched as Wheeljack stared off into space. A small smile crossed her face as she watched the emotions play across what portion of his face that she could see. Happiness, by the way his optic shutters crinkled. Amusement was easily identified by the soft glow of his optics. But Firestar couldn't determine the last emotion – it was a faraway look in his darkened optics. Something she had seen before, something she should know. But she couldn't place it.

She gently pressed her hand against his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry. What were we talking about?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead," Wheeljack said, relishing in the feeling of the small black hand still pressed against him. Firestar fidgeted slightly.

"I don't want you to be offended or anything, but I was curious…"

"Oh? Firestar – curious? What is this?"

"Wheeljack," Firestar cried out in mock indignation, crossing her arms over her chassis, "It's not nice to tease!"

"I'm playing, Firestar. Now what did you want to ask me?"

"Hmph," Firestar said, turning away from him.

"Come on, Firestar, don't be that way," Wheeljack said. She could hear the mischief in his voice and she cautiously turned one optic in his direction. He pounced. Firestar squealed loudly when his fingers slipped under the edge of her chassis. She began shrieking her laughter and pushing at his shoulders. When he did not relent, she began smacking his shoulders, trying to push him away. Finally, he relented. Then he realized just how close he was to Firestar.

He was lying beside her, propped up on one arm and leaning over her slightly. The femme didn't seem to mind. In fact, she even seemed to want the physical contact with him. She leaned against the base of the tree, her face not more than a handspan away from Wheeljack's. Firestar gingerly reached up and caressed his chest plates, slowly moving her hand upwards. She paused when her fingers came into contact with the mask that covered his face.

"Does…does your mask retract," she asked quietly, as though afraid to ruin the moment.

He nodded. He could see the unasked question in her optics and retraced the mask. She caressed his cheek plate, gently exploring the metal. Wheeljack shivered slightly at her touch. It had been far too long since he had last been touched so intimately. He shuttered his optics when her fingers brushed across his lip components.

However, he was not prepared for what Firestar did next: she brushed her lip components against his.

Wheeljack's spark almost exploded out of its box at the tender touch. Firestar deepened the kiss when he did not resist. He returned the gentle kiss, slowly delving his glossa into her mouth. Firestar moaned softly. One hand wound its way around his neck, the other remained planted firmly on his chest plate. Whatever spell it was that Wheeljack had been under was broken by her soft moan. He pulled away.

"Primus, I'm sorry, Firestar," he said quietly, hoping that he hadn't ruined their friendship, "I hope we'll still be friends, I didn't mean to take advantage of you. Will you forgive me?"

"'Jack, I don't want to be friends," Firestar said softly. His face fell – he really had screwed things up, hadn't he?

"I want you to be my mate," she said quietly, affirming her feelings for him. Wheeljack couldn't believe it – the femme of his dreams wanted _him_. She wanted him! As her _mate_.

"I…I can understand if you don't feel the same way about me, Wheeljack," Firestar continued, noting how he froze. Wheeljack started at the sound of her voice – how could she think that he didn't want her? He had loved her since the day they had met while on Elita's crew. The accident in the nursery brought them together. At that time, he couldn't have asked for more – he had seen Leo's advances and her coy responses. He didn't hold a candle to Leo and his good looks. Wheeljack would have been happy just to see her every day. But now…now with what she was asking…

He would be the mech holding her every night, telling her that he loved her and always would. He would be the mech that shared her laughter and tears, the one that shared her happiness and pain. He would be the one that comforted her, that cared for her, _he_ would be the mech that made love to her and he'd be the one to raise her sparklings. Wheeljack could scarcely believe it. Her hopeful proposition had to have been some strange dream conjured up to torture his poor spark. But as she shifted beside him, he was acutely aware of their surroundings – the breeze across their armor, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the sound of the nearby brook. Then he knew it wasn't a dream, and maybe, just maybe, she loved him as much as he loved her. Wheeljack decided to take the chance.

"No, Firestar, it isn't that," he said quietly, cupping her chin in his palm, "Nothing like that."

"Then what is it," she asked.

"I can't believe that you'd want me. You could have any mech on this base at your beck and call, Firestar, and you want _me_?"

"Yes, you. I don't want anyone else _but_ you."

Wheeljack smiled. He kissed her again, this time taking his sweet time with her. After a second, much to Firestar's annoyance, Wheeljack pulled away. She reached for him but he caught her hands in his, giving her a contemplating look.

"You're positive you know the risks of being bonded to me, right," he asked, mock-seriousness laced through his voice. She glanced at him curiously.

"Like what," she asked playfully, tugging him a bit closer. He rested his forehead on hers, gazing intently into her optics.

"I tend to blow things up. Could you cope with that for the rest of eternity," he answered dryly. She giggled and nodded.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she whispered, pulling him into an embrace. Wheeljack made a soft noise of contentment as he pulled her flush against the front of his body, gently caressing her. Firestar kissed the palm of his hand before leaning back against him. They lay together for the rest of the afternoon, watching the sunset.

* * *

They (well, it was mainly Firestar's decision because Wheeljack couldn't tell her 'no') decided to bond that very night. They managed to get back to his quarters without being seen by anyone but Prowl, and Prowl had long since known this day was coming, so it hadn't been a surprise to see Wheeljack leading Firestar into his room while kissing and doing immoral things. Prowl had muttered something about 'it being damn time already', making a note to tell Jazz that he had to cough up exactly four hundred and ninety three credits. Prowl thanked his position as Prime's SIC and took them off of the work roster for two days.

Then he sent the lovebirds a notification message, telling them that by his professional, medical opinion, they were not fit to be working until they got their biyearly maintenance checks taken care of within the next two days, tactfully adding a post script detailing Ratchet's irritation of their procrastination.

The door shut behind Wheeljack and he turned to his soon-to-be-mate. Firestar was gazing adoringly up at him. He leaned down and pressed his lip components to hers once more. This time they kissed passionately. Firestar wrapped her arms around Wheeljack's neck and stood on tiptoes, letting him know _exactly_ how much she wanted him. He was a bit surprised by her ardor, but returned the passion and then some. He trailed his hands over her body, drifting over her hips and over her abdomen, caressing every pleasure receptor that he could.

Firestar leaned heavily against him, panting against his lips as his sensual assault continued. Firestar dragged her fingertips down his chest plates, teasing the seam that ran down the center. He moaned softly against her lips. Wheeljack pulled her up against his body firmly, one hand cupping her aft and the other nestled in the curve of her lower back. Firestar gasped as the action pressed his interface port against her abdomen. It suddenly became much harder to stand under her own power.

She was barely aware of Wheeljack leading her to his bedroom. Firestar was only focused on the mech in her arms. She was frankly surprised at how good he was at kissing – he always wore that mask, so how had he gotten _that_ good? - but she pushed that thought away when he guided her onto the berth. Now her attention was solely on the mech standing before her.

He had no time to feel surprise when the femme reached up and pulled him down onto the berth, eager to start the bonding process. Wheeljack chuckled quietly at her eagerness. He lowered his lip components to the sensitive circuitry in her neck, nipping and biting gently. Firestar let out a soft, yearning moan, urging him on. The tingling waves from her interface port reminded her that she couldn't hold out much longer, and she made sure to let Wheeljack know about her predicament. He obliged and positioned his hips over hers, gently sucking on the fuel lines in her throat.

Firestar let out an impatient whimper and latched onto his hips, trying to bring his interface port down onto hers. Wheeljack lowered his hips to hers and locked their interface ports together. Firestar cried his name out when they started cycling information and electricity, wrapping her legs firmly about his waist. Wheeljack groaned softly, pressing his chest against hers, gently rubbing against her.

The friction on her chest was too much for Firestar and she promptly overloaded, screaming his name and arching into him. Wheeljack followed shortly, shuddering as the femme's overload triggered his own. Electricity danced between their frames, creating tiny lightning bolts that snapped and crackled in the air. Firestar let out a soft appreciative moan, nuzzling his throat softly. After a second or two, Wheeljack managed to come to his senses and disengage their ports. Firestar took a moment to rest.

As she lay in his arms, listening to the purr of his engine, she mused quietly. She had just overloaded with the love of her life. Now she was going to bond with him – and how had his hands gotten underneath her? She let out a long moan as he caressed her back, gently caressing the plates and slipping his fingers underneath. Firestar arched into his chest when he brushed up against the sensitive motor cables that ran down her back, allowing easier access to the sensitive circuitry beneath. His optics smoldered as he watched her face contort in pleasure and he growled deep in his throat. She whimpered as his chest vibrated with the growl and began rolling her hips against his, eager for more contact. Wheeljack dropped his lips to her chassis, kissing a path down to her abdominal plating. His hand still remained underneath her, tweaking the pleasure receptors buried under the armor plating.

The accident from nearly three years ago had pretty much destroyed her spinal support and many of the neural circuits there. The accident left her very sensitive in that spot. Usually it was painful, but at Wheeljack's touch, the sensations proved to be nearly intoxicating. How did he know where to touch her?

Firestar rubbed his chest plates gently, begging him to part them for him. He obliged silently. Firestar instinctively arched toward him as soon as he exposed his spark box to her. As soon as his box opened, she nearly knocked him over trying to get to his spark. Wheeljack moved slowly, locking his gaze with hers. After this, there was no turning back. She'd be stuck with him forever. Firestar brushed his cheek plate with her fingers, silently assuring him that she wanted him and only him.

Wheeljack pressed his chest against hers. For a moment, there was nothing. Their sparks flew at one another, joining and hovering. Firestar moaned quietly, throwing her head back on the cushion beneath them. Wheeljack gently caressed the hollow of her throat before pressing his chest against hers a bit more tightly – initiating a spark bond without locked interface ports was a bit harder than with locked ports. It usually took a few seconds before the programming actually booted up.

He could feel her presence hovering just out of reach, and he reached for her. His action brought down their firewalls and they both cried out as their bond finally cemented itself between them. They could feel everything that made up the other – Firestar's quick temper, untamable will, and unbridled passion, Wheeljack's quirky, curious, and carefree ways – Firestar gasped and arched into his chest further when their sparks finally and fully merged.

It was _incredible_. It was nothing like she had ever imagined – the delicious feeling of being complete, being _whole_, was more than she could ever fully understand. She could feel everything that was Wheeljack and he could feel everything that was Firestar, and it all felt _so_ right. They knew everything about the other but at the same time, nothing at all. Firestar could feel his presence. He was a little shy and a little awkward. She pulled him deeper into her spark, opening herself to him completely, beckoning him to be hers and only hers. Wheeljack needed no second invitation and curiously began exploring what she offered. Soon Wheeljack's turn came and Firestar eagerly explored her mate, curiously wondering what made the mech tick.

Soon their merged sparks drifted into their respective cases. Spark boxes shut. Chest armor slipped back into place. And in the midst of it, Wheeljack scooped Firestar into his arms and against his body, nuzzling her neck softly. She had given him one of the greatest gifts their kind could receive. He had done nothing to deserve her, he was sure of it. He reached to her, wondering what it was like, and was rewarded with a warm burst of love from the femme in his arms. Wheeljack powered down, suddenly exhausted from their activities. Firestar followed shortly afterwards.

* * *

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to come crawling out of his quarters," Ratchet said, leering at Wheeljack. Wheeljack made a face at his friend and began repairing the medical equipment Ratchet had set out. Ratchet raised one optic ridge as he took a good look at his friend – the mech had obviously tried to clean up before coming in to work, but had missed some very incriminating marks on his shoulders.

"So," the medic prompted, his voice full of mischievous glee, "What has had you _so_ busy that you can't come and drink with the rest of us?"

"I've been busy," Wheeljack said neutrally, shrugging. Ratchet snorted – if those marks were anything to go by, Wheeljack had been _very _busy.

"I'll say," Ratchet said, "so who's the lucky femme?"

"What," Wheeljack asked, startled. How had Ratchet figured it out?!

"Who've you been with for the past two days?"

"Not telling," Wheeljack said, trying his best to hold on to whatever dignity he had left. He should have known that with a friend like Ratchet, his dignity would never, ever exist again.

"Come on, you fragger. I'm your closest friend," Ratchet said, rummaging around in a cabinet and pulling out a clean polishing cloth.

"I know. But I'm still not telling you," Wheeljack said, finally exasperated. The mech dumped the newly repaired scanner into a holding container and crossed his arms.

"Why not," Ratchet said, finding a can of wax to go with the polishing cloth.

"Because you never told me," Wheeljack said. Ratchet could have sworn that Wheeljack was smiling under his mask.

"Told you what?"

"How wonderful it is being bonded," Wheeljack said, a goofy smile spreading across his face. Ratchet opened his mouth to speak. His mouth snapped shut as he realized the implications of what Wheeljack had said. Then a grin crossed his face and he set the equipment down.

"Now you _have_ to tell me, Wheeljack! And when did you bond with her? Why didn't you tell me you and her were together?! You little glitch, I told you about me and Nightshade!"

"She and I bonded two days ago and I didn't tell you because it was more of _her_ decision to drag me into the room and – "

"Too much detail, 'Jack," Ratchet said, wincing.

"Oh. Sorry bout that. And yes, you told me about Nightshade, but you also went into vivid detail of what you did to her!"

"Who is it, you dirty old fragger," Ratchet asked, ignoring his friend's scathing comment.

"Firestar," Wheeljack finally admitted, "And you're one to talk about being a 'dirty old fragger'!" Ratchet let out a loud whoop, clapping his friend on the back.

"About fragging time, Wheeljack! Red! Get your aft in here!"

Red Alert grumbled and shuffled into the room.

"What," he snapped, thrusting his hands out to the sides.

"No getting an attitude in _my_ med bay," Ratchet growled, then changed his train of thought, "Now, go dig that high grade out of my office! We're celebrating!"

"Celebrating what," Red Alert asked suspiciously, watching as Wheeljack buried his face in his hands.

"Wheeljack here has decided to join us in our ranks as a domesticated mech," Ratchet said, all but leering at Wheeljack, "Now that he's officially and permanently off the market, he'll be too busy to drink, he'll be running errands, and then he'll be raising sparklings – what?"

"What on Earth are you talking about," Red Alert asked, giving Ratchet a peculiar stare at the end of his speech.

"Wheeljack finally grew the lugnuts to whisk the femme of his dreams away," Ratchet said, grinning at Wheeljack, who buried his face in his hands and mumbled something in embarrassment.

"He and Firestar finally together? Primus, about time. When're you going to ask her to be your mate?"

"Oh, he and Firestar skipped the 'together' portion and leaped straight into the 'bonded' stage," Ratchet said, "Impatient fraggers, that's what they are."

Red Alert grinned.

"You poor, poor soul."

Red Alert had to duck when Wheeljack threw a heavy wrench at his head.

* * *

Sorry to the like, three people who have already read this. ;)


	41. In Which There is SmutX4

Mirage and Moon Racer's Turn

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's, plot, and medical procedures. :)

Warnings: Mirage is a kinky little bugger. ;)

* * *

Moon Racer was bored out of her circuits. Ratchet was giving some lecture about proper interface precautions. After catching Bumblebee and his little femme trying to mate without using firewalls, Optimus had decided that a mandatory question-and-answer "interface" meeting for every single mech and femme on base was in order. Now poor Bumblebee and the femme were sitting in the very front, earning glares from the CMO and his aides. It had been three hours since the beginning and the mech was still blathering on. At least they were past the 'mech and femme' talk. Moon Racer slumped slightly in the back of the room, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her and leaning back in the seat. Her optic shutters fluttered closed. She thanked Primus that the auditorium was not lit very brightly and that all of the spotlights were focused on the stage.

Something brushed against her chest. She swatted at it and snuggled into the arm of the seat. The thing brushed against her throat, making the femme gasp quietly. She heard a low chuckle from behind her and turned. No one was there.

"Mirage," she whispered, looking around.

"Yes, my lady," Mirage purred, nuzzling her neck softly. He was crouching in the row behind her. She whimpered as he brushed against the sensitive circuitry, nuzzling it with a gentleness that amazed her. His touches were feather-like brushes against her armor and underlying shell, leaving her slightly breathless in anticipation of his next move. His hands drifted down the front of her chest and over her abdomen, making her whimper a little bit more loudly.

"Shh, love. We can't have anyone hearing us," Mirage growled quietly, nipping her audio receptor gently. Moon Racer nodded once more, bracing herself with the arms of the seat. Mirage caressed her abdomen gently, reaching around to spread her legs a bit.

"Mirage, stop that," she hissed, batting his hands as they strayed up to her interface port. She realized she had hissed a bit too loudly when the mech three rows in front of her turned around. Moon Racer covered by making a slight coughing noise. The mech turned back around. Mirage chuckled quietly.

"Good cover," he said quietly, lowering his mouth components to her neck once more. His hands spread her thighs again. Moon Racer felt her internal temperature skyrocket with the feeling of his hands straying upwards, stopping to finger the fuel lines that fed into her legs. Then she realized what they were doing, where they were doing it, and in front of who.

"Mirage, stop it. I'm not an exhibitionist like you! I can't simply turn invisi – AIIEEE!"

Moon Racer clapped her hands over her mouth as her cry gathered attention. This time, three of the mechs turned around, giving her a questioning stare. She coughed louder, motioning at her intake fans. The mech who'd first turned around gave her a suspicious glare and turned back around. Mirage laughed again, dipping his fingers into the seam again. Moon Racer managed to keep her vocalizer off and only shivered.

"_Mirage_…"

The mech's hands disappeared from her body. After a moment, she turned around. She heard a soft scuffling noise, then nothing.

"Mirage? Where'd you go? I was kidding…"

There was pressure on her legs and she whirled back around.

"Mirage? What are you doing?"

The mech did not answer. Moon Racer stifled a scream as Mirage's mouth components covered her interface port. She began whimpering and clutched the sides of the chair.

"M-Mirage, st-stop it," Moon Racer said, her hands flying up and latching onto his shoulders. He pulled her hips toward the edge of the chair, allowing him easier access to the circuitry nestled between her legs. He ignored her and reached up, burying his fingers into the wires in her abdominal plating. The femme was panting quietly, writhing at his attention, begging for him to stop. Fire ran through her fuel lines, making her entire body tingle at his touch. He circled the sensitive dataport with his glossa once, twice, before dipping his glossa obligingly inwards.

Moon Racer had to clap her hands over her mouth to stifle her shriek. The mech three rows down ignored her. Whether he knew what she was doing or not, he was pointedly avoiding looking at her. Mirage chuckled again, pinning her trembling legs with his hands. She cried out, her back impossibly arched towards the mech kneeling between her legs. The pleasure shooting up from her interface port turned into throbbing, pleasurable agony as she hovered on the edge of the best overload of her life.

With one last gentle swipe of Mirage's glossa, Moon Racer overloaded, clamping her thighs around him. Her hands were still firmly clapped over her mouth but her cries were still a bit loud. As she sagged in her seat, her exhausts pouring steam, the mech turned back around. This time, he wore an amused smile and merely shook his head at her. Moon Racer pointedly ignored him.

"You fragger," she said half-heartedly, reaching out blindly. Mirage took her hand and kissed it.

"Only for you, my lady," he said.

Moon Racer turned her head and looked around. Where could she and Mirage get a bit of privacy? There was a storage room in the back and she smirked.

"Storage," Mirage purred, fairly intrigued at her sudden boldness. Moon Racer nodded and got out of her seat. She ducked down low and began creeping up one of the aisles. She reached the back of the room, a thrill rushing through her systems. The door swung open quietly and she went in, laughing quietly as the door shut behind her. Mirage did not need any encouragement to finish what he started.

Moon Racer kissed him gently, running her hands over his chest. Then she reached up and flicked on the light. Mirage phased out of invisibility and back into his normal state. He pushed her up against the wall, firmly wrapping her legs about his waist. Mirage thrust against her interface port. Moon Racer cried out, her hands clawing at his back armor. He groaned as her hands slipped back down, fingering the seam in his chest plates. Moon Racer, too far gone to care about the consequences of what she was about to do, opened her chest plates. Mirage followed quickly, his passion driven by the lust he had for the femme in front of him. He pushed his chest against hers, groaning as their sparks merged finally and fully, engulfing them both in a fiery, passionate inferno. Almost as quickly as their sparks merged, they split back into two.

Then Mirage began moving against Moon Racer and any concerns of what they just did disappeared with the delicious burn that came with mating. He put one hand underneath her aft and pushed into the femme with his hips, using the other hand to stabilize himself. Moon Racer's cries grew louder as his movements grew jerky and uneven with his impending overload.

Moon Racer screamed and stiffened. Her overload washed over her body, jerking a low sob out of her vocalizer as she clung to Mirage. He thrust a few more times before he overloaded, his fingers tightening around her waist as his invisibility flickered a few times. They clung together for a few moments more. Mirage disengaged their interface ports and helped Moon Racer stand. Then Moon Racer wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

"That was delightful. We should do it again," she said, smirking up at him. He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. She shut the light off and opened the door. It was suddenly quite a bit brighter outside. Then she realized that there was a spotlight on the door.

"…and as Moon Racer and Mirage have so helpfully demonstrated, you _can _merge sparks under a multitude of conditions," Ratchet said dryly, his voice amplified through the speakers. Moon Racer gasped and covered her face with her hands. Mirage only smirked at the hundred and fifty odd mechs and femmes in the room.

"Next time, take your activities where you won't be seen through the window," Nightshade said, motioning at the clear glass in the door. Mirage only smirked again.

"Keep it down, too. You'd be surprised how well that room amplifies sound," Red Alert said, adding his two cents and leering up at the couple. Moon Racer ducked behind Mirage, positively burning in mortification. How loud had she been?

"I think we will," Mirage said. With that, he ducked down and carted Moon Racer over his shoulder. The femme shrieked and slapped his back but he would not put her down. She began cursing him quietly when some of the raunchier mechs burst into applause and began calling out 'suggestions' of what to do. Even Ratchet added his opinion and was met with more cheering.

"Be sure to use firewalls," one bawdy mech called out.

"Yes, don't want any little Mirages running around," a femme called out, teasing her friend. Moon Racer only buried her face in her hands and resigned herself to the indignity of being carried around like a sack of spare parts. Mirage gave Prime a sharp salute before turning and leaving the room.

* * *

Poor Moon Racer!


	42. In Which There is Suspense

Chapter 42

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but my OC's and medical procedure. If you want to use, you _must_ ask first.

Litahatchee has very graciously allowed me to borrow the idea of carrying and the carry chamber from her story, "Night Fire".

In this chapter, we find out if the sparkling lives or not. Well? What are you still reading this for? Well, in that case…:dangles chapter out of reach:

Questions, comments, and concerns can be sent through ff's PM system.

**EDIT: Thank you to Shadowcat for pointing out that DA was blocking the images. I've fixed it. :) **

**Oh. And I've drawn a picture of Streak, if you'd like to look at him. ;P**

* * *

Inside the surgical room, Nightshade held the sparkling to her chest. She couldn't speak, think, or even filter air through her systems. She was focused solely on the sparkling in her arms – she could feel its spark flickering, she could feel it fighting to live. Nightshade held it closer, shuttering her optics, gently but constantly urging the sparkling to move or even cry. Anything would have been better than the deathly silence that had descended into the room.

Ratchet had sunk into a chair a while ago, resting his head in his hands, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. He assumed the worst. Nightshade felt the spark flicker once, then twice. Then it grew stronger, and stronger. Nightshade clicked softly – its fingers twitched slightly. Then the sparkling began squirming in earnest, bringing its optics online. Upon seeing its creator for the first time, the sparkling instinctively tried to access her carrying chamber.

Ratchet shot out of his seat when he heard the sparkling's soft warbles. The chair toppled over as he leaned over his mate, his optics wide with amazement. Nightshade cooed softly and the sparkling responded with a soft chirp of its own. Ratchet sagged against the table, too shocked to even speak properly. Then the sparkling looked directly at him and squeaked. He felt his spark melt and he reached one finger to the little protoform lying in Nightshade's arms. The sparkling looked up at the red appendage curiously, chirping questioningly. Ratchet stroked the sparkling's head gently and it let out a rapid fire succession of clicks and chirps. Apparently, the sparkling craved physical contact. Nightshade smiled up at Ratchet, her optics glinting with emotion.

The little one began squirming as the cool air of the room settled on its tiny frame. Ratchet was hardly aware of the stinging in his optics, more focused on gently stroking his sparkling's tiny arm. Ratchet then sat on the edge of the berth. Nightshade hiccupped quietly, her happiness overflowing into both bonds.

"Red Alert," Ratchet cried out hoarsely, gathering Nightshade into his arms. The exhausted femme only leaned into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin.

The mech ran into the room before the echoes from Ratchet's call had died down. Red Alert skid to a stop next to Nightshade, wondering what was wrong. Then he thought to look at the sparkling. It was twittering away, grabbing Nightshade's hands and trying to burrow into her chassis. Nightshade was frozen where she sat, as though afraid that if she moved her dream would shatter into pieces. Red Alert almost sank to the floor in relief as he scanned away – the little spark had taken to the shell and was growing stronger by the astrosecond. Day Lily and Cross Wise were the next to appear in the room. Day Lily immediately hurried over to Nightshade's other side, leaning over the femme and peering down at the sparkling.

It began crying. Panicked, Nightshade scooped it closer to her chest, but being a new mother, did not know what to do with the crying, hungry sparkling. Day Lily solved that problem.

She spoke as quietly as she could.

"Nightshade, sweetspark, you need to open your chest plates," Day Lily said, sitting on the edge of the berth and facing her daughter. Nightshade nodded and obeyed her mother. Day Lily gently took the sparkling from her daughter's arms.

"Since you'll be carrying the little one, you need to put it in this compartment right here," Day Lily said, gently easing the sparkling into Nightshade's carrying chamber. Nightshade stiffened, the weight in her chest strange and new to her.

"Now, close your carrying chamber…and your chest plates. You should be able to feel the sparkling trying to upload into your systems," Day Lily continued softly. Nightshade nodded, feeling the tiny consciousness in her carrying chamber nudge her softly. Ratchet watched in awe. He had never seen such an intimate exchange up close before – he had always been ushered to the back of the room while the other femmes in the room guided the new mother through her first upload with her child. Now he was witnessing it up close and personal. He watched on, his spark fluttering nervously and anxiously. He was almost overwhelmed by the emotions that ran through his systems, causing his hands to twitch slightly at the pure joy that engulfed him.

Nightshade's optics brightened suddenly and she went stock still in his arms. Alarmed, he began to speak.

"Shh, Ratchet. She's bonding with the sparkling," Day Lily said softly. Ratchet nodded and watched over his mate, noticing how their bond had become foggy. It wasn't at all disconcerting like when he had almost lost her to Starscream, but it felt natural, like it should have been happening. Concerned, he turned the question to Day Lily, who was the sparkling and birthing expert in the room.

"Is it normal for our bond to break down a bit," he asked Day Lily quietly. She nodded.

"The sparkling is bonding with her first. It will take a few minutes. Then it will seek you out," Day Lily said quietly, "But your bond with it won't be as strong as hers, not for a long, long while."

Nightshade felt the sparkling shyly nudge her once more, uploading into her core systems slowly. The sparkling seemed to have inherited its father's curiosity – it spent a long time exploring her personality matrix and memory banks. Unable to comprehend what the strange images and sounds meant, the sparkling turned and instead immersed itself in its bond with Nightshade. It settled down, stretching slightly in the roomy expanse of her carrying chamber. It squeaked quietly – its job was done. Now it could grow peacefully and quietly, and let its creator take care of it. Nightshade hesitated slightly before reaching through their bond and 'stroking' the sparkling. It chirped happily, latching onto her presence and sending her bits of love. Nightshade watched, or rather sensed, as the sparkling began skimming off droplets of her energon supply, filling up its energy reservoirs completely. The spark's frequency grew more defined and now she could tell its gender. Nightshade's optics brightened and she shyly smiled up at Ratchet.

"Your son is very energetic," she whispered quietly, smiling as she felt the sparkling squirm a bit when her attention was diverted – he wanted all of that strange, warm emotion focused on him, not someone else, even if it _was _his mech creator!

"I have a son," Ratchet asked quietly, his optics wide with wonder. He felt something tugging at his spark and he turned a curious gaze over to Nightshade, who smiled at him encouragingly. He allowed the sparkling to edge into their bond. He could feel the love and happiness radiate from either end of the bond and he eagerly responded in the same manner, letting his presence engulf his mate and son.

After a moment, he stood proudly and turned to the group gathered in the back. Elita, Chromia, Epsilon, and Moon Racer had all snuck back into the room and were poorly hidden by a cabinet.

"We have a son," he said, a goofy smile spreading across his face plates. Elita and Chromia clung together in weak relief. Epsilon's optics were still wide from everything that had happened in the past hour - Nightshade had been poisoned, the sparkling had almost died, and she had witnessed her first ever online process. She had never seen anything quite so intimate before and she was honored that Nightshade would allow her to stay in the room. Red Alert approached Nightshade once more, deeming it safe to approach the femme now that her sparkling was tucked away safely in her chassis.

"Alright, Nightshade. You're going to need quite a bit of rest. So will your sparkling. I've made arrangements for your things to be brought down here until you're strong enough for us to move you back to your apartment," Red Alert said, ignoring the stinging in his optics. Nightshade giggled quietly, watching as Red Alert excused himself to wipe furiously at his optics.

Red Alert honestly couldn't believe it – a _true_birth, the first one in Primus-only-knew how many _eons_. A true birth that had almost cost Nightshade her life, but a birth, a miraculous one! The other younglings were created from residual AllSpark energy, yes, but none of them had ever been carried or nurtured by a femme. It had taken millennia for them to figure out a way to extract the AllSpark energy from the spaces in the bedrock surrounding the AllSpark and many more years before they could figure out a way to channel it into a youngling's shell. They had tried using a sparkling's shell once. It was a tragic ending for the little one – the raw energy had ultimately been the sparkling's own demise. He wiped at his optics again, watching the new family from the corner of his optic.

Ratchet had his arms wrapped around Nightshade, a small smile on both of their faces as they continued bonding with their little one. The other femmes (and Crosswise, who had fainted during the procedure) were still gathered in the back, conversing quietly amongst themselves. Day Lily withdrew, leaving Nightshade and Ratchet to privately bond with their little sparkling.

Red Alert sniffled and hiccuped. He managed to send a malicious glare at Moon Racer but the effect of the glare was lost when his engine hiccuped again. Moon Racer burst into giggles. Red Alert couldn't help it that he was so Primus damned emotional around little ones and first on-lines.

"Red, I thought I told you not to get all weepy on us," Ratchet teased gently.

"Frag you," Red Alert snapped. Nightshade giggled quietly, her engine revving quietly. Her optic shutters drooped as she leaned against Ratchet heavily.

"No cursing around the sparkling," Ratchet growled, waving one fist threateningly. Red Alert blinked. It wasn't as though the sparkling could hear him past the thick metal of Nightshade's chest! Ratchet's glare grew more intense.

"Fine! No cursing. Sheesh," Red Alert muttered quietly, throwing his hands up in defeat. Ratchet and Red Alert shooed the others from the room after making them promise not to say a word about the birth – no even to their mates. Chromia and Day Lily stayed behind. Nightshade and Ratchet would present their son when they were ready. But now, Nightshade needed to rest.

After Ratchet settled beside Nightshade, protectively wrapping an arm around her, Red Alert briskly clapped his hands together and began lecturing the pair.

"Nightshade, we'll upgrade your sparkling into its permanent shell in a few orns or so, or whenever you feel ready, alright," Red Alert said, putting one gentle hand on her shoulder. The sleepy femme nodded, stretching slightly. Ratchet immediately stood and dragged the portable heater in the room over. She sighed happily when the heat washed over her frame. Red Alert put one hand on Ratchet's shoulder and motioned him away from the exhausted femme. He began speaking softly when they were a few yards away from her.

"Ratchet, her systems are _extremely _erratic right now," Red Alert said quietly, watching as the femme curled up on the berth, "You need to be very careful with her. That means no smart aft comments. If you upset her, she'll spook. You need to be very gentle with her – "

"I know that," Ratchet snapped, a familiar glare descending onto his face plates, "You think I don't know how to take care of her?"

"I never said that. I did, however, imply that you open your mouth without thinking things through," Red Alert said, giving Ratchet a mild glare. Ratchet relented at the glare. It was true. He was so used to saying what he wanted without giving a frag about what others thought. At Ratchet's silence, Red Alert continued speaking.

"She and the sparkling will be _completely _dependent on you for the next day or two. You'll also have to keep an optic on her energy reserves for a few days." Red Alert's tone darkened slightly at the end, the barest hint of a threat in his voice. Ratchet may have been the CMO, but in Red Alert's CPU, Nightshade and her sparkling were far more important than anything Ratchet could have said or done.

"And I will be taking the rest of this week off," Ratchet said, noting the menacing quality of Red Alert's tone.

"And until she's strong enough to return to work, you will be doing half-shifts," Red Alert continued, satisfied with Ratchet's declaration. Ratchet nodded, sighing as he gazed over at Nightshade longingly.

"Interfacing is safe whenever she feels up to it – "

"Interface is the last thing on my CPU at the moment!"

Nightshade giggled quietly at Ratchet's declaration, curiously turning her gaze at the two mechs standing by the window.

"You're a mech. I'm a mech. I think I know how our CPU's work," Red Alert said dryly.

"_Red Alert_ – "

"And until she and your son are ready, you'll just have to use the hands Primus blessed you with," Red Alert said, grinning. His grin faded just a bit as the seriousness returned to his voice.

"…when you do, you'll need to use firewalls. There's no way she'll be able to carry the sparkling and his sibling at the same time," Red Alert said softly, "Now go take care of her. And pick out a name."

There was a moment of silence as Ratchet returned to Nightshade's side.

"Nightshade, love…what are we going to name him?"

"He's extremely energetic…Light Streak. We can call him Streak for short," Nightshade suggested, yawning. Ratchet nodded, not caring if she named the sparkling Larry. All that mattered to him now was his mate and sparkling. They were both now safe and sound. Nothing could possibly harm them in the medical bay - it was almost a fortress unto itself. Thick, steel plated walls. Self-defense systems. Impenetrable firewalls and coded frequencies. Spark masking frequencies. Nothing short of a nuclear blast could get into the medical bay. Relaxing for the first time in days, Ratchet sank next to his mate and gave her a genuine smile.

"Whatever you want, love. Streak sounds fine to me," he said, tenderly wrapping his arms around her. Nightshade made a soft humming noise and leaned into him, shuttering her optics. He nuzzled her head softly, rubbing his nose and lip components against her gently.

Red Alert felt his optics stinging again and he swore quietly, wiping at them furiously. Ratchet smirked up at his friend, but did not speak. He gently helped her lie down on her back. She winced and turned onto her side as the welds across her abdomen pulled uncomfortably. Ratchet immediately dug out a large metallic blanket. He had had it specially designed with her in mind. Now that fifty percent of her energy was being routed into helping the sparkling develop further, it left very little energy for her internal temperature moderator. She was running with cold systems now.

"Can I have painkillers now," Nightshade asked sleepily, wincing in pain as she tried to turn to glance at Red Alert. He nodded.

"You can have whatever you want, Nightshade."

"I want the strongest painkillers you've got," she murmured, curling up once more. Red Alert chuckled quietly, but did not obey. The strongest medication he had was for someone of Prime's size. A dose of that would probably knock her out for a few orns. He prepared the proper medication and injected it into her fuel lines. The effects were instantaneous.

Her optics dimmed and she giggled quietly. She sat up but began swaying dangerously. Ratchet gently pushed her back down, covering her back up with the blanket. Nightshade weakly batted his hands away.

"I wanna go back to the apartment," she said, overbalancing and falling back down. Ratchet bit down his amused smile and shook his head.

"You're in no condition to be walking, love. Just shutter your optics and get some rest," he said softly, kissing her forehead. She giggled again and latched onto the grille covering his chest.

"C'mere, handsome," she said, leering at him slightly. Chromia and Day Lily began laughing at the expression on Ratchet's face. He managed to suppress his CPU and gently pry her hands from his chest. She immediately fell back and curled up on her side.

"No. Rest."

"I don't want to! I'm fiiiine…tired…gonna recharge now…"

And with that, Nightshade succumbed to the medication and allowed her subroutines to take over.

Ratchet then proceeded to sit down beside her, holding his beloved's hand. Chromia and Day Lily were comfortably and quietly chatting, sitting in the seats Crosswise had dragged in. Red Alert watched for a few seconds before giving them a soft smile. Then, he dimmed the lights and stepped out of the room.

He went into his office and sat down. So engrossed was he in the sparkling's data that he did not notice the fact that the storage room doors were open. Nor he or Ratchet noticed the shadows sliding out of storage and hiding in the darkened rafters, their tiny green optics aglow with malicious intent.

* * *

Well. Y'all did want an update. :shrug: Now go look at my DA site. :)


	43. Declaration of War

Disclaimer: I only own Nightshade, my OC's, and medical procedures. :) PAW07 let me borrow her idea of femme in hiding while Okami-Chan let me borrow her idea of dancers.

**RachelMNiner**, the reason I didn't describe him as blue and cute is because he's still in protoform. Like I said in the last chapter, it will be a while before he's strong enough to be upgraded. (_If_ he gets the chance.)

Litahatchee and I have been talking and we've found out that we'll be sharing a few ideas. Now, I don't know how Lita's going to use these ideas, so out of respect to her as an author and friend, I won't divulge what she's using or when. If you want to use anything in the upcoming chapters, please ask first. We've both been working super hard on our stories, and I don't want anyone to even _think_ that either one of **us **would use an idea without permission. I don't know when Lita will be touching on these ideas, so if you're wanting to use any of the specific ideas that I'm using (and she hasn't touched on them), then you'll need to ask me first. I'll ask Lita if she's using them, and if she is, you _have got to ask her_. I'm not the only person using them**. ****However,****'carrying' and the carry chamber; as it applies to the way a sparkling is carried within the femme, near her spark, the way it is nurtured in this way;** is and always will be sole property of Litahatchee **from her** story Night Fire (Litahatchee also owns all medical procedures in Night Fire) just as the medical procedures in When in Doubt belong to me. Thank you! :)

And another giant thank you to Lita for bouncing ideas with me and for all of the encouragement. :D

When In Doubt: What You Didn't Know has also been updated, so if you feel the need for some good fun after this chapter, go take a look. :)

* * *

Day Lily and Ratchet left the surgical room about an hour later – Day Lily needed the rest and Ratchet was going to retrieve a few holocubes and supplies for Nightshade. Red Alert left, too, leaving the femmes by themselves. The room was deathly quiet, even with their amiable chattering. Chromia shivered slightly. Where was Ironhide when she needed him?

She sent him a questioning nudge through their bond. No response. She frowned slightly, repeating the action. Then cold dread settled over her spark as she realized that she couldn't feel anything _but_ his presence. Someone had set up a spark masking block. She repeated the action again and it confirmed her fear. Chromia got to her feet and began searching for a way out, frantically typing codes into the pad beside the door.

Nightshade awoke to the sound of Chromia pounding on the door.

"Wasamatter," she managed to slur out. She shakily tried to rise up on her arm but couldn't. The painkillers had effectively disrupted her systems. She became slightly nauseated, her stabilization and balance subroutines going haywire. The effects of the energon flush caused her computing center to become erratic, her thoughts whirling and disconcerting, leaving her unable to focus on any one thing.

"Someone's set up a spark block. We're stuck in here," Chromia said briskly, trying her best to fight down her panic. She began typing in every code that she could – basic public access codes, emergency override codes, anything she could think of. She busily typed away, deeming it as a faulty keypad or something of the sort, desperately hoping that it really was not a trap.

"Chromia!"

The femme turned around at Nightshade's terrified cry. A dozen drones were perched around the room. Chromia thought to look up. There were six very large drones were hiding in the rafters, their optics glowing eerily in the dusky darkness. Nightshade stared at them with wide optics – repressed memories of where Starscream had nearly taken her from Ratchet began surfacing, forcing her computing center to freeze up and further incapacitating her.

She weakly tried to scoot away from the approaching drones but fell back as her energy dwindled below fifteen percent. The poisoning and birth, coupled with the painkillers and sedatives, rendered her incapable of doing more than watching. Now she could offer no resistance as one particularly large drone hovered over her, its arms stretched out.

"Leave her alone," Chromia shrieked, throwing a scanner at the drone. Its head snapped to the side. It beeped quietly and straightened up, seeking its attacker. Upon seeing the blue femme, it stopped. With a whirring computing center, it tried to contact its master. No response. The drone had specifically been told to go after the blue femme.

But there were two blue femmes. Which one? The drone beeped again. A tinier drone leapt from its chest. It would take both. Its master would be pleased.

Chromia barely had any time to react as the tiny drone leapt at her. She swung at it but it latched onto her arm, digging tiny, sharp claws under her armor. After a brief moment of struggle, Chromia managed to rip the drone from her arm and sling it against the wall. It let out a metallic shriek as its body impacted the wall, shattering into sparking pieces. It was then that she noticed the energon dripping from a punctured fuel line.

Not a full three seconds later, she began to feel the first waves of dizziness. Chromia managed to take a few of the drones out with a small EMP concussion wave. She sank to her knees, fighting the anesthetic as hard as she possible could. The last thing she saw was one of the larger drones silently wheeling over next to her. Nightshade frantically began relaying distress signals but failed, unable to penetrate the powerful masking blocks that the drones had set up. As a final, last ditch attempt to call for help, she used her codes to activate the rarely used emergency features in the medical bay. One of the larger drones that had escaped Chromia's EMP blast dropped down from the rafters.

A sigh of relief escaped her as the lights dimmed and an alert went through to the command center. Nightshade struggled weakly as the drone gently, almost tenderly scooped her into its arms, cradling her against its chest. It beeped once more and the rest of the drones moved into place. Another drone shielded the femmes from the sparks raining down from the ceiling. With mounting horror, Nightshade watched as the smaller ones began to make short work of dismantling a panel in the wall and hacking into the med bay security systems. Nightshade prayed that they wouldn't be able to override Red Alert's extravagant security codes and measures. The drone tightened its arms around her gently as one of the smaller drones blasted a hole in one of the windows. Nightshade turned on her tracking device, shuttering her optics as the drone climbed out of the hole and scaled the wall.

At least now they would know where to find her.

With that final thought, her energon reserves failed and her vision went dark.

…**stasis lock in ONE breem…**

* * *

The reaction to the security breach was instantaneous – Prowl and Barricade had both been playing cards, arguing over tactics, but before the red emergency lights had even finished dimming, they were in the armory passing out weapons to the assembled 'bots. Ratchet tried to contact Nightshade through their bond, but grimly realized that he could not contact her. This didn't surprise him too much. The medical bay was equipped to protect and hide the patients and medics within, even if it meant masking their spark signatures. But why would they run a drill now? It hadn't even been cleared with him. The only mechs on base that would know if it was a drill or not were Prime, Red Alert, Prowl, and Barricade, and none of them were handy at the moment, so he decided to investigate and find out for himself. Forcing down his fear and deeming it as nothing more than a prank, he made his way quickly to the medical bay.

On the way, he met Prowl and Barricade. Upon seeing the heavily armed mechs, he realized that it wasn't a drill. Nightshade truly was in danger. His spark leapt into his vocalizer. No, this couldn't be happening, not now. Not to Nightshade or their little Streak. Ratchet's hands balled into fists as he approached the mechs.

"Ratchet, you need to stay here until we've cleared the medical bay," Prowl said tersely, motioning for the mech to get out of the way. Ratchet faltered, torn between obeying Prowl and going in with guns blazing. Barricade made the decision for him and pushed him out of the way, leveling his weapon at the door.

"Barricade, those doors are reinforced," Ratchet warned, "You won't have much luck. Let me see if I can disengage the security mechanism."

"Very well, but you _will_ _not_ enter until we have cleared the room. Am I clear?" Prowl asked, glaring at Ratchet. It was more of a statement than a question. Ratchet nodded and hurried over to the keypad. Two escorts flanked him, providing cover should anyone dangerous be within. Ratchet typed in his security code. The keypad beeped quietly.

**Override has been disabled. **

Ratchet hissed in anger, slamming his fist into the wall. Out of desperation, he ran through every single access code that he knew of but was still met with failure. Prowl shook his cranial unit and put one hand on Ratchet's shoulder, pulling him back roughly. Ratchet growled quietly and shrugged Prowl's hand from his shoulder.

"You need to get out of the way, Ratchet. Go back to the command center and we will take care of the rest," Prowl said, eyeing the heavily reinforced doors. Ratchet growled.

"I will do nothing of the sort, Prowl. Nightshade is in danger," Ratchet snapped. Why couldn't Prowl understand that his mate came first? Why was he being so difficult? Prowl shook his head.

"No, Ratchet. Get out of the way," Prowl said, pushing Ratchet out of his way. Ratchet raised one hand in Prowl's direction, ready to give him a verbal lashing. Ironhide leapt into the fray and grabbed Ratchet's arms. They couldn't deal with Ratchet's hissy fit and two missing femmes at the same time.

"_Ironhide._"

"Shut it, Ratchet," Ironhide snapped, pulling up slightly on Ratchet's left arm. The mech hissed in pain but complied.

"You will calm down and you will move out of the way. We are doing what we can. If you cannot keep calm, we will sedate you and we will put you in the brig. Compute," Prowl snapped, seemingly unfazed with being swung at by the near-frothing CMO.

"Let me go, Ironhide. Nightshade is – "

" – is in danger. Yes. I know. Now be quiet and stay out of the way," Ironhide finished, letting go of Ratchet and dropping him on the floor. Ratchet only grumbled quietly and rubbed his aching wrist joints.

"Ratchet to Red Alert," Ratchet said, opening a communications channel.

"I'm on my way down there, don't worry about a thing. Elita has already told Prime about _the situation_," Red Alert said, heavily emphasizing the last bit of the sentence, "You and Ironhide are to take any measures necessary to get into that room."

Prowl and Barricade both noticed the heavy emphasis on the end of the sentence and gave Ratchet expectant glances.

"What about _'the situation_'?" Prowl asked. Barricade remained silent, reading Ratchet's body language. The mech was obviously tense about something. That 'something' must have been extremely important if the normally level headed mech had attacked Prowl. Red Alert arrived on scene.

"Have you tried all of your security – "

"Yes, now get your aft over there and see if you can't make this thing open up," Ratchet interrupted. Red Alert hurried over to the door. As Chief of Security, he had access to _everything_ in the base and city, even down to the locks on drawers, if need be. He typed in his master access code. After a second, the key pad made a strange noise and promptly fizzled out. Red Alert jumped back from the sparking keypad, clutching at his badly burned hand.

"If the keypad is gone, there's nothing more that I can do!" Red Alert cried out, panic rising in his voice, "How are we going to get that door open?! What if it's a trap, Ratchet, and – "

"Shut. Up," Ratchet snarled, "We need to get inside _now_."

"Ironhide, do whatever it takes to get that door open," Prime said through his comm. link, "Make sure everyone else gets to safety before you let loose. My ETA is in two minutes."

The others in the hallway made a hasty retreat to an adjoining hallway at the smirk of morbid glee that crossed Ironhide's face plates.

"With pleasure, sir," Ironhide drawled out, leveling his cannons at the door. He took a moment to seek out weak spots on the door before ducking behind a pillar for cover. Then he let loose a maelstrom of acid pellets, bullets, plasma rounds, energy flares, and just about everything he had in his subspace pockets. After a full thirty seconds of non-stop weapons fire, Ironhide shot off his last round and peeked around the pillar. He smirked with pleasure at his handiwork. The door had been blasted into the waiting area of the medical bay and slammed against the far wall. Twisted, glowing shards of steel twisted into the darkened room. Yellow sparks rained from the lights above. Whatever drones had been stupid enough to stay behind were now smears of silver metal on the linoleum floor.

Ratchet hurried inside, ignoring Prowl's angry reprimand. Ratchet brought his rifle up, cautiously looking around. His initial scans revealed no life signs. His spark plummeted as he took in the damage. He froze, unable to compute a single thought.

"What happened here," Prowl asked tersely. The medical bay was in pieces. The glass cabinets had been shattered. The glass and remains of drones were sprinkled across the floor like gruesome confetti, crunching under foot. Prowl's battle computer began whirring away – _ninety five percent chance of mortality, four percent chance of finding bodies –_ and he crept down the hallway, his doorwings held low and out of the way.

The lights were ruined. Embers and sparks poured from the ceiling, dropping to the floor and glowing brightly before extinguishing. Ratchet hurried to Nightshade's room. Something popped underfoot with a gruesome squelching noise. Ratchet jumped back and looked down. He had stepped on one very tiny drone. Its legs twitched pitifully before its green optics went out. Barricade picked it up and subspaced it as evidence.

Ratchet continued into the room, his spark flaring uncomfortably. The lights above flickered slightly, illuminating the destruction within. There was a path of charred metal, singed by the electricity from Chromia's EMP blast, leading across the floor and against one wall. The drones that had been in the way were partially melted to the ground, their bodies melted like ghastly wax statues. Ratchet ignored them and hurried over to the berth, ignoring the energon he stepped in.

The berth where Nightshade had been resting was overturned and covered in energon. The sight of the pink fluid was a slap to Ratchet's processors. His anger dissipated quickly and fear took its place.

"No…"

The delivery and medications, coupled with the poisoning and energon flush had rendered Nightshade completely defenseless. Chromia may have been one Pit of a warrior but that did not mean that she was able to fight off a dozen drones in a surprise attack and protect Nightshade at the same time. He stared in silence at the slightly congealed pink energon, his intakes heaving.

"No…Primus, please no," Ratchet whispered quietly, shuttering his optics. Ratchet had never been much of a believer – his role as a medic turned him bitter against the idea of a deity that allowed innocent mechs and femmes to die, to die without a fighting chance or retribution. But now, he found himself believing that Primus did exist, if only to punish him for his lack of belief.

They had taken Nightshade and their little Streak. Ratchet sank slowly to the ground, struggling to fight back the unbidden questions from running rampant in his mind. The amount of energon in the berth did not bode well for Nightshade or their sparkling. Ratchet let out an anguished cry and slammed his fist into the ground beside him, his entire frame shuddering as he struggled not to lose control.

Was Nightshade still alive? Was little Streak still alive? He was barely aware of Ironhide lumbering into the room, so lost in his fog of anguish was he. Upon seeing his friend kneeling on the ground, Ironhide sank down beside him with a groan of gears and put one massive hand on his shoulder. Ratchet didn't give any indication of having even noticed the mech. Ironhide shook Ratchet's shoulder gently, trying to break the mech from his anguish induced stupor.

"What's goin' on, Ratchet?" Ironhide's voice was surprisingly gentle, his touch comforting. Ratchet shuddered as he tried to speak.

"Emirate took Nightshade," he managed to whisper, "And he took my sparkling…"

His words made Ironhide jerk back in surprise and shock. Nightshade had been carrying? And she had already delivered? Why hadn't he said anything?

"When did she…"

"Less than an hour ago," Ratchet said, his voice trembling as his spark twisted in absolute tortured agony. He'd lost Nightshade and his little Streak. This was his fault – he should have stayed behind to keep an optic on her. He shouldn't have let Red Alert give her those painkillers – this was _all_ his fault. He shouldn't have gone back to the apartment; he should have stayed by her side until she was strong enough to do defend herself. He was a _terrible _mate, unworthy of her dedication and love. And now he was paying his mistake dearly. He never even got the chance to hold his son.

Prowl and Barricade finished clearing the medical bay and joined the mechs. Ironhide got to his feet, his thoughts whirling. Things were getting very ugly, very quickly. They had to get the femmes back before the situation escalated.

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Ratchet. There was nothin' you coulda done," Ironhide grunted softly, hefting the red-and-white mech to his feet, "Now if you'll excuse us, Prowler, we've got a mech to dismember."

"What happened, exactly," Optimus asked, finally arriving on the scene. Elita jogged up behind him and promptly froze upon seeing the state of the medical bay – and Ratchet. The mech was staring into the room with gaunt, glazed over optics. His entire body sagged, almost as though someone had ripped his entire world from beneath his feet. Prime had a sinking suspicion that if Ironhide had not been holding Ratchet up, the mech would be on the floor. Elita shoved past him and raced to the door. She cried out softly, gathering her hands over her mouth as she took in the state of the delivery room.

Not a second later, Elita's face hardened and her posture changed. It was then that the mechs in the room understood why she had been given position as Commander – her posture was rigid and unyielding, Prime's smaller but equally deadly counterpart. Her optics brightened as she gazed around the room. Barricade felt his spark stutter at the lethal, icy calmness that radiated from her body. She spoke quietly, but her voice carried over the noise in the room, reminding each and every mech in the room that she was a seasoned warrior, more than capable of holding her own against even Prime.

"I'm taking my platoon to Emirate's ship, Optimus. If you and your men wish to come along, you have one breem to be ready and at the entrance. Anyone, and I mean_ anyone_ that stands in my way will be dealt with accordingly," Elita said quietly, her voice growing deadly toward the end. Prime approached slowly, raising two placating hands.

"Elita, we don't know for certain if they are in Emirate's ship," Prime said gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at the contact. Her bright blue optics were serene and gentle, but Prime could see the tempestuous anger swirling behind the falsely calm exterior.

"Where else would they be? Two of my femmes and _their sparklings_ are in danger, and I will be damned before I let you stand in my way," she hissed quietly, jabbing one finger into his chest plates, "Now get out of my fragging way before I decide that you're assisting Emirate and shoot you."

Prowl and Barricade could not hide their surprise and shock when Elita said the word 'sparklings'. They shared one shocked look before turning back to Optimus.

"Elita, calm yourself. I've already sent out a message to my men. We will meet your platoon in the entrance," Prime said gently, radiating his presence toward her spark, "_after_ we discuss tactics." She rebuffed him angrily.

"No."

"Elita," he said quietly, his optics narrowed, "I need you to act like a commander, not a femme or a creator. I know you're upset, but we can't just go in with guns blazing. We don't know what Emirate is going to do. We can't risk any kind of retaliation from him."

Elita nodded, bowing her head and shuttering her optics. Optimus was right. She had reacted instinctively, wanting nothing more than to protect the femmes and their sparklings. Elita reigned in her irrational anger and put it aside. She couldn't afford to act like a femme right now. Her role as Commander was more than that – she was a warrior first, femme second. Prime gripped her shoulder gently, conveying his gratefulness through their bond. She gave him a tight lipped smile before turning back to the assembled group.

"Prowl, get Jazz, Bluestreak, and Mirage. You will be responsible for scouting the ship and disabling security measures. Ironhide, Sky Lynx, and Brawn will be on stand by if we need the firepower," Prime said quietly, "Soundwave, his cassettes, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Elita and her platoon, and Inferno will be the main group. The aerialbots need to be on standby if we need them. Ratchet and Red Alert – you two may come along. We don't know if we will need you two. Barricade, you will stay here and man the base in my absence."

"Yes, sir" voices chorused from around the room. They scattered instantly, not wanting to anger Prime any more than he already was. Ratchet was still standing in the middle of the room, his entire body slumped.

"Ratchet, I promise that we'll find them," Optimus said quietly, "But for now I need you to act the part of our CMO, not as a creator or mate."

Ratchet gave a long, shuddering sigh before nodding.

"Thank you, Ratchet. Now let's go," Prime said, gently guiding the mech from the room. Prime shot one last look over his shoulder and felt his spark harden at what remained of the medical bay. He was capable of infinite kindness and compassion, but what Emirate had just done was nearly unforgivable.

Prime shut the door behind him, one hand between Ratchet's shoulders. Ratchet was visibly struggling to keep his composure and Optimus couldn't help but to draw Ratchet into an awkward, one-armed embrace. Ratchet needed someone strong at the moment. His sparkling and mate were gone, the both of them presumably dead.

* * *

:P


	44. Stalemate

* * *

Chapter 44

* * *

Hey there, everyone! Here's the next chapter. :)

Credit goes to the always awesome **Litahatchee **for letting me borrow her idea of carrying from "Night Fire", which is a dark but super awesome read, by the way. The idea of femme in hiding goes to **PAW07** and her story "Promise Not to Tell" – a super funny, super sweet read (can't wait for the next chapter). The idea of dancers was lent to me by **Okami-Chan** from her story "Rhythm and Hues". Totally awesome, by the way. And **LittleMewLugia **let me use her idea of subadult mechs and femmes from her story "Hunting Party". :cough: A very sexy read, might I add. ;) Lots of love going around.

Lot's of thank you's to **Litahatchee, **who is like the best person ever to bounce ideas with, FYI. Thank you to **everyone** who reviewed that last chapter. I'm sorry for putting those two random smut chapters in there…I was kind of hoping it'd help tide y'all over until I got my lazy butt around to updating. There's a lot of stuff happening in this chapter, which is why it took me forever to update. That and advanced calculus. :grumble grumble:

An energon-solar converter is an invention of my own. It's made up of solar panels and a few Cybertronian devices to convert solar energy and different chemicals into energon. That's the only thing I can think of that isn't fully explained in this chapter.

Enjoy! :cue the foreshadowing evil laughter:

* * *

Nightshade couldn't remember much of the trip to wherever the drones took her. She remembered the failing daylight on her half-open optics, a few blurs of green, and cold air washing over her frame. Then nothing more, until she heard screams of rage and anger from Chromia and a few blasts from her EMP generator. Nightshade had smirked to herself that time – Chromia was not a femme to cross.

Emirate did not know what he was getting himself into. Chromia was wild and unpredictable in battle. She showed no mercy to anyone who crossed her. Nightshade smirked to herself once more. If Chromia could whip Ironhide in hand to hand combat, Emirate truly did not stand a chance.

Then everything went dark after that thought. She could have been in stasis for an hour or a week, Nightshade did not know and could not tell. Her processes were still scrambled from the lack of energon. The only thing she had access to right now was her sparkling. Streak was fine, if not slightly underenergized. The little mech was unaware of the danger but he could sense something was wrong. Thankfully, the little one instinctively stayed as quiet and as still as possible, doing his best not to draw attention to himself or his femme creator.

Nightshade managed to crack her optics open. Bright light burned into her optical software, making her whimper at the agonizing burn. The lights instantly dimmed and a face hovered over hers. It slowly came into focus. Nightshade blinked up at the ivory colored femme. She was rather plain in the face plates but her frame more than made up for that fact. She was exquisitely built, light and delicate. She was covered in rare strips of metal and tiny gems. Nightshade wondered where her creators had gotten the credits for her body.

"You're awake. That is good," the femme said softly, "You were quite underenergized when the drones brought you here. I've set up an energon line, but I'm afraid I do not know what else to do."

Nightshade only stared at her suspiciously, glancing around for Chromia.

"Are you looking for your friend? She's over here," the femme continued, gently patting a berth next to Nightshade's. Chromia lay on her back, her entire frame covered in scratches and dents. Nightshade's optics instantly went dark with anger.

"What did you do to her?" Nightshade snarled, struggling to sit up. The femme scooped one hand behind Nightshade to help her sit up. Nightshade swatted her hand away, swinging her legs over the edge of the berth. The femme hung back, wringing her hands worriedly.

"I haven't done a thing. She woke up before the drones could disarm her and attacked them. Of course they retaliated, but they haven't done any permanent damage. She and her child are fine," the femme said, sounding offended. Nightshade only booted up a scanner to verify the femme's statement. She was right. Chromia and her sparkling were in perfect health.

"You're a medic?"

A sharp nod from Nightshade.

"In this language, my name can be roughly translated to Maia. What is yours?"

"I go by Nightshade," she answered curtly, rolling Chromia onto her back and checking her wounds. They were shallow gouges on her chest, almost as though the drone tried to hold her back. Nightshade clucked disapprovingly as she deposited a few bits of spare soldering wire onto the berth. A flick of the wrist activated the soldering tool Ratchet had given her.

"And she is Chromia, is she not?"

Another nod from Nightshade. Maia only nodded and watched as Nightshade gently repaired Chromia's mild wounds. Nightshade pulled out a phial and injected the contents into one of Chromia's fuel lines, watching as the femme's optics powered up. Chromia groaned quietly and sat up slowly, propping herself up with her hands. Nightshade wrapped her arm around her waist, taking some of the strain off of the fresh welds.

"Frag. You missed one Pit of a fight, Nightshade," Chromia said, giving her a weak smirk. Nightshade snorted. How typical of Chromia. Awake and the first thing she mentions is fighting.

"Good to see that you're doing fine," Nightshade said. Chromia's optics narrowed – she'd seen Maia. Chromia's processes immediately switched into battle mode.

"I'm Maia," the ivory femme said, delicately extending one hand. Chromia merely nodded. Maia retracted her hand, looking hurt.

"I suppose I should go, then. Lord Emirate will be with you shortly," Maia said, rising gracefully, "I will tend to you later."

The femme turned and left the room.

* * *

Emirate stepped into the room no less than five minutes later. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest plate. Well, this wasn't good. He had two femmes to deal with now. Chromia was wide awake and growling quietly. Her chest was covered in fresh welds. Ah. The other femme was a medic. This could be very profitable for him.

"What is your name?" he asked, directing the question towards the smaller blue femme.

"My name is Nightshade," she responded, sharing a glance with Chromia. Emirate only made a humming noise before turning to one of the windows. He ran through the files the drones had stolen from the system. One side of his lip components quirked into a smile when he read her information. Bonded to Ratchet for almost five years. This could work out for him.

"You are bonded to the chief medical officer, are you not?" Emirate asked, his gaze on the Autobot base. Chromia and Nightshade shared another glance – how did he know? As though sensing their question, Emirate spoke again.

"My drones hacked the wrong component of the base and pulled up medical files," Emirate said, his nasal plate crinkled slightly in disgust. He turned to Nightshade, one optic ridge raised as though to ask 'well?'

"Yes, why?"

The mech only nodded and turned his gaze back outside. Nightshade and Chromia shared a third uncomfortable glance. Where was this questioning going? What was he going to do to them? And more importantly, what was to become of their respective sparklings? Nightshade fidgeted uncomfortably, reaching to Streak through their bond. The little mech latched onto her presence and held on, gently and lovingly caressing her. Nightshade's throat suddenly ached. She would do anything to keep her little one safe.

"Do you know how much your mate would be willing to pay for your sparkling's safe return?" Emirate asked conversationally, glancing toward the base. He would have to make his demands quickly. He could see into some of the windows. There was a flurry of activity going on inside. If anything, Prime was gathering troops to storm the ship.

"What do you mean? How do you know about my child?" Nightshade asked angrily, running a systems check. No one had downloaded any of her information.

"By the scar running across your abdomen. The drone accidentally gave you the abortive agent. I am also assuming that since you are functioning properly, that your sparkling is alive. It really wasn't very difficult to find out," Emirate said dryly. Nightshade bristled, ready to speak, but Emirate cut her off.

"Maia has informed me of your abilities as a medic. I need a medic. However, I do not need a wailing sparkling on board my ship. Your child will be sent back to your mate," Emirate continued, his voice soft and emotionless. Nightshade hissed quietly, her optics narrowing. Emirate held up one hand.

"Do not argue with me. Either it stays with your mate or I will take care of it myself," Emirate said, his voice sharp as the glare he sent in her direction. Nightshade backed down, subconsciously placing her hand over her chest plates. Streak stirred slightly and stretched out.

"I'd rather not be known as a murderer," he added softly, "I am many things, but I am not a killer." Nightshade fell silent instantly. Her optics narrowed dangerously. He pretended not to notice her defiant action. He would have to break her of her stubborn streak later on.

"Good. Chromia, you already know why you are here," he said, turning from Nightshade to face Chromia.

"The rules have changed, Emirate," Chromia said, her voice steady and confident. Emirate shook his head, a slow smirk crossing his face plates. Naïve little Chromia truly didn't know.

"The new Book of Codes is invalid. I found a copy of the original in your medic's library files. You belong to me, like it or not," Emirate said, his voice neutral, "And I have the original contract your creators signed."

The mech brought the contract out of subspace, hefting the datapad in the palm of his hand. Nightshade started. Ratchet had deleted all of those files, hadn't he? Then her optics widened. _She_ was at fault. She had been given a copy of The Book of Codes when she was little more than an intern. She had saved it as an old file.

This…this was _her_ fault.

"What will you give to keep your child safe, Chromia?"

She froze as she realized the terms of his contract. Emirate allowed a small smirk to cross his facial plates and spoke.

"Exactly. You will stay with me until your sparkling is born. Then your bond with Ironhide will be broken. You will be bound to me and your sparkling will be raised by Ironhide."

Chromia narrowed her optics at him, a low growl in her throat. Emirate crossed his arms over his chest plate.

"Or I can just produce another dose of the abortive agent and be done with it. Like I said before, I would hate to be known as a murderer, Chromia," Emirate said, dropping his hands. Nightshade watched the exchange, noting Chromia's defeated posture. The mech was playing her, trying to make her believe that there truly was no other option. Chromia felt her spark falter when the spark she carried fluttered. Was Emirate lying to them? She shared a panic stricken glance with Nightshade, begging for reassurance. Emirate noticed.

"I am not a liar, my dear. I am hurt that you would think that I would go back on my word. You can trust that your sparkling will be safe if you agree to my contract," Emirate said, inclining his head in Chromia's direction. Chromia shied away slightly.

"Very well. I will speak with Prime. I will meet with him as soon as possible. There is a bathing area beyond the first door to your left. You may use it as you wish. Maia will be in shortly to tend to your needs. Nightshade, please come with me," Emirate said politely, bowing his head to the femmes. Nightshade hesitated before following him out of the room. If he tried anything, the dagger hidden in her wrist compartment would have a new home wedged between his back plates. But for now…she had no reason to attack him.

She followed him silently until he came to a set of stainless steel doors. He pushed the access button and went in. Nightshade cautiously followed him into the room. The lights above flickered on.

"This is the medical bay. It is yours now. Enter your name and medical access code on that computer and you may return to Chromia," Emirate said, motioning to the terminal. Nightshade gave him a suspicious glance. If she entered her name and codes, she was tied to this ship until it was resold, commandeered, or destroyed. Nightshade glanced at the computer terminal again.

"Why?"

"You need to register as CMO of this ship," Emirate said, a touch of impatience in his voice, "And I'd rather you do it as soon as possible."

Nightshade typed her name and medical code in slowly at the pointed glare she received. Once she was finished, Emirate motioned to the door once more.

"Good. Now you may return to Chromia. You are not allowed to wander about the ship unless Maia or one of my drones is with you," Emirate said, opening the door and following her out into the hallway, "Once we leave this solar system, you will be free to do as you please."

Nightshade nodded curtly, wondering what she had just gotten herself into. But as CMO of this ship, she had access to a variety of different things. Her optics narrowed slightly and her spark leaped in triumph. She'd hack into the systems and steal as much information as possible. Then she would strike.

Nightshade's true name could not be translated, so she had assumed the name of a deadly but beautiful plant. She had chosen that name for the method she used to dispatch her targets early on in her career in the Autobot Army. She would silently poison her targets and disappear into the shadows. Prime and Elita One were the only ones on base that knew of her previous career. And she intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"Follow this hallway until it ends. Take a left and go down three doors. That is where you and Chromia are staying. Have a pleasant evening," Emirate said, inclining his head slightly.

* * *

Secretary of Defense Keller stared at the images on his screen. A routine F-22 flyby over the Autobot base had revealed some very interesting images. There was a group of no less than thirty _armed _mechs standing in front of the base. Prime was standing in the middle, motioning toward the ship that had arrived two days ago. Prime had warned him about the new arrival. He was some sort of pompous self-centered egoist - which was actually the nicest thing Prime had said about the mech. Optimus had also warned him that things could get 'ugly' around those parts.

Now Keller was trying to keep the President from declaring war on the Autobots. The man was screaming at his subordinates, screaming for more weapons and ships off the coast and more jets. Keller rubbed his aching head – he could _not_wait until elections. The President even had the President of Russia on the line, yammering away about possible war preparations. Keller sighed again – well, now they were definitely revealing the Autobots.

He picked up the special cell phone Ratchet had given him. It was a direct link to Prime's communication's system. Ironhide's communication frequency was in there, too, but Prime had warned against calling after eight at night. Keller vaguely wondered why, but decided not to ask what Ironhide did at night. Especially now that his little lady was with him. He dialed Prime's number and waited.

"…_Optimus here_."

"Optimus, we've just received word that there is a heavily armed group just outside of your base," Keller said, leaning back in his chair. He picked up a sandwich and took a small bite. He heard a sigh.

"_Yes, we're about to raid Emirate's ship._"

"I see. Any particular reason? I've got President Smith screaming at me. The President of Russia and the Prime Minister both want to know why President Smith is raving about 'gigantic metal robots' and 'nuclear weapons'," Keller said dryly. Then he heard a siren go off. "Oh, son of a…President Sidorov is asking if we're declaring war on his country…no, wait. Vice President Johnson has wrestled the phone away from him. We're fine…for now."

"…_I see. Emirate has taken two of our femmes…hostage."_

"Oh. Is…is there anything we can do?"

"_Just tell the President not to attack us. We need to get the femmes away from Emirate before he launches his ship."_

"Do you mean that he is still able to travel off of the planet?"

"_Yes. He is still warp capable._"

Keller took another bite of his sandwich and put 'warp capable' on a list of things to ask Wheeljack.

"What aren't you telling me, Prime?"

"_He's taken Chromia and Nightshade. You've met them both, I believe."_

"And what else has he done?"

"_You're on a secure line, are you not?"_

"Yes, I am," Keller responded, sitting up. This was getting interesting. He finished off his sandwich, stuffing the remains into his mouth and chewing greedily.

"_Both females are carrying._"

"Carrying what," Keller asked, managing to speak around the mouthful of tomato and bread crust. There was another moment of silence.

"_You could say that both females are with child_."

Keller inhaled and tried to swallow his sandwich at the same time. As a result, he began choking. He dropped the phone and began coughing, trying to dislodge the food. After a few frenzied moments, he managed to get the food down.

"They're _what_?!"

"_Pregnant. Expectant. Childbearing –_"

"I don't need a list of synonyms, Optimus. I'm just in shock."

"_I did say that we didn't need the AllSpark to bolster our numbers._" Prime sounded amused. Keller made a note to visit his cardiologist after all this was through. Lord only knew he was going to need some sort of cardiac therapy for all this excitement at his age.

"But…you said…colonists!" Keller's brain wasn't quite past its initial shock of having learned that the Transformers could and did have sex…well, whatever _their _version of it was. He had the sudden mental image of cables and flashdrives sticking out of inappropriate places, and he shook his head. Hard.

"_I suppose I should have been a bit more direct with our methods of reproduction. I will explain it to you later, Mr. Keller. But now I must go. Ratchet and Ironhide are about to fritz."_

"…alright."

"_I ask that you say nothing of the femmes or their conditions. If you must, tell the President that Emirate has taken two of our children. Stretch the truth, if you will."_

"…alright."

"_Optimus out._"

Keller stared at the cell phone in his hand for a good fifteen seconds before hitting the 'end call' button and dropping it into his shirt pocket. He leaned his head into his hands and wished for a bottle of good, strong whiskey. His brain was starting to wander into the dangerous territory of imagining Chromia and Ironhide doing things together. After composing himself, Keller stood up, brushed bits of tomato and breadcrumbs from his lap, and headed to the President's office. He had some explaining to do.

* * *

Prowl had to give Jazz credit. Even with the beautiful white paint on his frame, the mech could still move like a ghost and leave no trace behind, not even a footprint. Soundwave had just confirmed that there were no security measures outside of the ship. Now Jazz was underneath the hull, busily cutting away at the thick metal. Bundles of wires dropped and Jazz began to gently sort through them, searching for the right type of wire. He found what he was looking for and sliced through it – security cameras were taken care of for the moment. Then he began peeling the ship's outer plating away.

He reached in and began pulling out bundles of wires. Jazz brushed up against something and looked up. He froze. There was a missile hidden among the wires and cables. Jazz slowly began looking around. Now that he was actually inside the hull of the ship, he could make out turrets and cannons, all neatly folded out of the way. A second missile caught his attention. Jazz gasped quietly and froze where he was.

His spark leapt into his throat – if that thing went off, everything carbon based in a five hundred yard radius would be eradicated. That type of weapon had merely been in its testing stages while he was at the Academy. It would even cause CPU damage to any mech within a hundred yards.

The Autobot base _was_within a hundred yards. There were twenty two younglings residing on the base. There was no telling how the missile would affect their processes.

Jazz immediately dropped back down onto the ground and slowly backed away. He made sure to stick to the shadows. Then he brought up his comm. line and spoke quietly, almost as though there were listening devices around him.

"Prowl, we've got a situation," he said.

"What kind?" Prowl asked.

"…Emirate's ship is carrying class four weapons, maybe class five."

Prowl spluttered on his end of the line. His fuel pump momentarily stopped at the mention of weaponry.

"_Are you sure_?"

"Positive. From what I can see he's got one of those carbon degraders. He's also got side mounted turrets, solar particle cannons, and a few neural scramblers."

"_Primus._I'll let Prime know. You need to get back in there, Jazz. Do whatever it takes to locate Chromia and Nightshade."

"Yes, sir," Jazz said, "Jazz out."

* * *

From the moment Prowl entered his office, Optimus knew there was something very wrong with the situation. Prowl's door wings were twitching. The normal calculating look on his face had been replaced with one of fear. Prime's fuel tank went cold.

"What's going on, Prowl?"

"That isn't a passenger ship, sir," Prowl said quietly, "It's a class five war vessel disguised as one, sir."

Prime froze. A _war vessel_? This close to the base?

"Sir, your orders?"

Prime ignored him and stood in the window, gazing out at the gleaming ship. There was no outward sign of there being weapons underneath that hull.

"Sir, your orders," Prowl stated once more, his doorwings twitching at an alarming rate.

"Get Jazz in there. Tell him that he is to use any force necessary to disable Emirate," Prime said softly, resting his head against the cool glass in the window, "Once Emirate is out of the picture we will put any and all nuclear weapons in one of the passenger shuttles and deploy it. There's a black hole about a thousand light years away. If Wheeljack can get the warp engines running, we can destroy the warheads there. Until we can contact Emirate, have everyone retreat back into the base." Prowl nodded and saluted his commander.

"Get the younglings into the lowest level of the base. It's the only place they will not be harmed by the neural scramblers. Have a few of Elita's femmes escort them there. They will stay with the younglings," Optimus said, continuing quietly. Prowl nodded.

"I will inform Wheeljack of the situation. Jazz already knows what he has to do. And…the femmes?"

"If you can contact either one, tell them to stay out of the way. Make sure Chromia understands. She's carrying – she is in no condition to be fighting at the moment," Optimus said, his exhaust sighing gently.

* * *

"What the hell do you mean?!"

"Mr. President, I mean exactly what I say," Keller said, trying to ignore the stabbing pain behind his eyes. The migraine had started the second he walked into the President's office. Now it was almost debilitating. His body broke out in a cold sweat suddenly.

"You mean they are about to wage a war on United States soil?" President Smith asked quietly, dangerously. Keller shook his head, wondering why the man wouldn't listen.

"No, sir. I did not say that. I said that there is a stand off between Prime and his men and the owner of that vessel. We don't have any details, nor does Prime. He said he would get in touch as soon as he knew something, sir," Keller said, biting down his impatience. He picked up his bottle of water and took a few sips, rubbing at his temples to ease the pain.

"Prime answers to me from now on. Your cell phone, Keller," President Smith said, holding his hand up. Keller only stared up at the man. The weak sunlight poured into the Oval Office, but it suddenly felt very cold.

"Keller. Give me the phone _now_."

Keller pulled the specially designed cellular device from his pocket and handed it to the President, but not before pushing a very small, very inconspicuous button on the side. President Smith took the phone and scrolled through the contacts.

"Which one of these is Prime's number?"

"Sir?" Keller feigned innocence. Keller thanked Wheel Jack and Ratchet for their foresight. Both mechs knew that President Smith got a bit crazy when things got ugly, and had installed a memory wiping device in case of such situation. As it stood, Prime and his men trusted very few human government officials – Keller, the Lennox's, several soldiers, and strangely enough, Simmons.

"I know you've been in regular contact with Prime, Keller," President Smith said, snapping the phone shut.

"Sir, every single time I've spoken with Prime, it's been on a secure government line," Keller stated. President Smith glared up at Keller, his ice grey eyes boring straight through Keller.

"If you've lied to me, Keller, you've committed treason against the United States of America…and you know what that means, do you?"

Keller nodded, glancing over at the secret service agents in the shadow. Their hands were resting threateningly on their weapons. So this was the game they were going to play. He'd play…for now. As soon as he could, he would see Prime.

For now, he had to let President Smith think he won.

* * *

Nightshade paused at the junction of the hallway, looking down both ends. Was she lost? She had followed Emirate's directions to the letter. Nightshade jumped when the lights went out. She shivered and activated her night vision optical software. Nothing but grey lines danced across her vision. Her extraneous software had been disabled. Damn.

Nightshade put one hand against the wall to steady herself and began walking back towards the medical bay. She didn't make it three steps before something slammed into her back. Sharp stinging pain radiated from one of her fuel lines. Then everything went dark once more.

* * *

Optimus sat down in his seat in the command center. Ironhide and Ratchet were in the back of the room, organizing a strategy. Prime sighed sadly. Ironhide was only doing this to keep Ratchet's computing center off of Nightshade and little Streak. Ratchet was as good at organizing attack strategies as he was decorating. Then, a soft bell chimed in the monitor beside him. Prime acknowledged the transmission and looked at the identification number.

Emirate.

Optimus let Emirate transmit his message. He watched as the screen flickered to life. Emirate was sitting at the helm of his ship, looking particularly bored. Ratchet and Ironhide leapt to their feet, but Barricade and Prowl were waiting. Both mechs were forcibly disabled and made to sit down.

"Ah, Optimus, sir. I am glad that you are able to speak with me," Emirate all but purred. Half of his body was hidden in inky darkness. The only light shone from a small light above his head. Optimus squinted at him suspiciously.

"Where are Chromia and Nightshade?" Optimus demanded, narrowing his optics.

"Straight to business? Very well. Chromia and Nightshade are in one of my rooms. Both femmes are safe and sound," Emirate said. Optimus's optics narrowed further as he contemplated his next action.

"You have three days to meet my demands or else I will be taking action," Emirate said, shifting slightly in his seat. Optimus could have growled.

"And what are your demands, Emirate?"

"I want safe passage off of this planet. Chromia still belongs to me, Prime. I found a very old copy of The Book of Codes in your medical library, so your revisions are null and void. I also have the original contract that her creators signed. The other femme will be coming with me as well. She has already been instated as CMO of this ship," Emirate said softly, his steely gaze flicking to the back of the room. Ratchet was struggling to get up, but Prowl sat him down once more.

"Is that enough to get both femmes and their sparklings safely?"

Emirate shook his head.

"No, I've already decided that I will be keeping both femmes. Their sparklings are a different matter entirely. I am a very generous mech, Optimus. I'm also a very kind mech. In exchange for their servitude, I spared their sparklings," Emirate said. Optimus was slightly relieved. Ratchet and Ironhide both froze and stared up at the screen.

"And? What else do you want?"

Ratchet and Ironhide gave him an incredulous stare. They expected Prime to be unwavering; they expected him to demand the safe return of both femmes. Optimus must have had a very good reason not to do so, then. Prime was keeping something from both of them.

"I want one of your solar-energon converters as well as two hundred kilograms of your dilithium reserves. After that exchange, I will remain in orbit until Chromia delivers her sparkling. Ironhide and Ratchet may collect their respective sparklings in exactly one year's time," Emirate said, a vicious smirk of triumph crossing his face plates. Prime's gaze only grew more intense.

"And what if we refuse to meet your demands?"

"Ah, the persistent 'what if'. Here's exactly what I will do if you do not meet my demands, Prime: I will kill both sparklings. Once both femmes lose their sparklings, their bonds will be thrown wide open. I will take Chromia as my mate. Nightshade will become one of my consorts. I will go into orbit and use my nuclear weapons to level a few populous cities," Emirate said, his face becoming angry and taut, "And I will make sure that the United Nations and NATO both know that it was _your_ fault for denying my requests."

Optimus knew that he had to tread carefully. If they could neutralize Emirate before the deadline…

"And…I'd rather you meet my demands, Prime, because," Emirate said, trailing off gently. Optimus didn't speak but watched as Emirate swiveled in his chair. He had something in the crook of his arm, something small and grey wrapped in a blanket.

"…I'd rather not be a murderer," Emirate said, shifting the frightened sparkling in the crook of his arm. Ratchet cried out involuntarily. Streak began squirming when he couldn't feel either of his creators. His chirps of distress were more than Ratchet could handle and he leapt out of his seat. All he could think about was the strange mech holding his son. He knew that Nightshade would have fought to the death to keep Streak safe. Where was she now? _He couldn't feel her._

He began clawing at Prowl's arms, struggling to get to his son. Emirate shushed Streak gently, tenderly wiping the tear tracks from Streak's face plates with a corner of the blanket. Emirate cooed softly to Streak, but Streak would have none of it. His chirps grew louder and more desperate. Then he sent Prime one triumphant smirk before the screen went black.

* * *

Emirate is such a sleaze ball. :3


	45. Interlude

* * *

Chapter 45 - Interlude

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Starbucks, nor am I affiliated with their company in any way, shape, or form. I just enjoy the sinfully delicious hot cocoa they make. : ) I also don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Carrying belongs to **Litahatchee** from her story **"Night Fire".**

* * *

Jazz's sleek frame darted from tree to tree, as silent as an apparition. He paused and looked up. The sinister gleaming hull stretched up and outwards, an impassable mountain of metal. Jazz took a few more steps toward the hull, trying to figure out the best place to sneak into the ship. The main entrance was deactivated so it was obviously out of the question. He put his hands on the metal surface. It was slightly warm.

He shuttered his optics for a moment. No vibrations here, so no electrical current. He used a gentle magnetic pulse to twist the metal out of his way. There was a large metal strut in his way. Frag. He'd have to find another place to get in. The process repeated itself many times, until he found one clear area. Jazz deftly lifted himself into the gap, balancing precariously on the edge. Then he began cutting away.

It took him a few moments to cut the first layer of metal away. He tossed it over his shoulder before turning back to the ship. There was a second layer of metal, a support structure woven like honeycomb. Each pocket had a thick rubber line with regenerative material in it. Every time he made a cut, the sheets would seal themselves off. Jazz groaned quietly and leaned his forehead against the strangely warm material.

This was going to take a while.

* * *

"Mr. Witwicky," said the agent in the black suit. Sam only nodded up at the man, wondering what the heck was going on. Simmons sat in the seat across him, shuffling through a folder. The other agent merely leaned up against the wall behind Simmons. After a long moment, Sam spoke.

"So why am I here?" Simmons looked up and held Sam's gaze for a moment.

"You're here under direct Presidential order, Mr. Witwicky. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you'd better answer them carefully," Simmons enunciated clearly, inclining his head ever so slightly downwards. His gaze informed him that every second of the conversation was being recorded. Sam nodded, suppressing the shiver that ran up his spine. Simmons motioned slightly and another person stepped into the room. The person, a woman, held a drink carrier in her hand. There were three steaming cups inside. Sam's mouth watered when he smelled the succulent chocolate wafting from the Starbucks cup.

"Mr. Witwicky, you are aware of the situation with the Autobots, are you not?" Simmons asked, flicking through a very thick stack of papers. Sam shook his head and accepted one of the drinks. Simmons picked up his own drink and drank deeply as he waited for Sam's response.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said. He truly didn't know. Bumblebee had mentioned something about a fight before hastily taking off, but nothing more. Sam suspected that he was under direct order not to say anything more.

"Take a look at these pictures. Do you see anything familiar?" Sam took the photograph he'd been offered. There, in the lower left corner of the photograph, was a group of Autobots. They were all armed. Prime was standing in the front of the group. A massive ship loomed in upper right hand corner.

"I see Optimus," Sam quipped, handing it back to Simmons. As soon as the smart ass response left Sam's mouth, the other agent against the wall slammed his hands on the table.

"Listen up, kid. We are under direct order to take any measures necessary to neutralize those things if they start fighting. If you really want your buddy 'Optimus' to live to see another day, you'll start answering our questions truthfully," he snapped, glaring at Sam. Sam held his gaze evenly.

"I told you. I _don't_ know. Bumblebee may be my friend, but that doesn't mean that he shares everything with me. And don't call me kid. I'm twenty three, thank you very much," Sam groused, crossing his arms over his chest.

The agent that had been leaning against the wall turned to a box on the wall. He pushed a small red button and leaned close to the speaker.

"We're going to be here for a while."

Sam and Simmons's eyes met. This was not good.

* * *

Emirate turned off the monitor screen and reached over to another console. The lights slowly powered up, casting light about the room. Emirate stood and glanced down at the sparkling in his arms. The sparkling looked back up at him with watery optics before chirping softly, questioningly. Emirate shushed Streak before walking over to one of his couches. He set Streak down between two plush cushions and began to walk away.

A desperate squeaky cry made his footsteps falter. Emirate turned his gaze back to the sparkling. The tiny mech was shivering pitifully in the cold. Emirate walked back over to Streak. He paused again, staring down at the trembling bundle.

"I have nothing against you, I hope you know," Emirate said down to the sparkling. Streak only curled up, trying to hide from the strange mech who'd taken him from his femme creator. Going against everything he believed and thought about femmes and sparklings, Emirate found a thick blanket in one of the cabinets.

"If your femme creator is anything like Chromia, I suspect she'll be by to collect you soon enough. You have no reason to fret, little one," Emirate said, wrapping Streak in the warmer blanket. Streak trembled pitifully and Emirate felt the tiniest tendril of pity. When he realized this, he shook his cranial unit and squashed the pity. He had no current use for the sparkling, so why on Cybertron would he care if it was cold? Emirate turned away from the couch, disgusted with himself.

* * *

"_Ratchet?"_

"_Yes, Nightshade?" He peered down at the femme wrapped in his arms. The weather outside was cold and snowy. Nightshade smiled shyly up at him and placed a gentle kiss across his lip components._

"_I love you, Ratchet," she sighed, making herself comfortable across his chest. Ratchet smiled and draped one hand on her waist. The other hand settled protectively over her carrying tank. He could feel Nightshade smile against his chest plates. Her tiny hands drifted down to cover his._

"_Do you want a mech or a femme?" she asked, craning her head to look up at him. Ratchet shrugged and returned his gaze to the snowy world outside. Nightshade hummed quietly before looking back up at him._

"_I want a little mech," Nightshade stated. At Ratchet's questioning nudge, she continued._

"_I don't want a femme because it might come out like me," Nightshade said. Ratchet chuckled quietly._

"_Why would you say that?"_

"_Do you really want to deal with two whiny, weepy, irritating femmes, Ratchet?"_

"_I don't think any of those things about you, Nightshade! I love you and all of your quirks," Ratchet said, planting a kiss on her head. Nightshade hummed quietly and watched as the snowflakes piled on the windowsill._

"_I still want a little mech, though," she grumbled quietly. Ratchet only laughed, his entire chest vibrating._

The memory faded as Nightshade's processor booted up.

Nightshade opened her optics. Dim light streamed from above. She slowly sat up, swaying dangerously. What was going on? When she got to her feet, she stumbled. Her center of gravity was off. Nightshade gently reached out to Streak but there was no response. Her spark froze in its casing. She reached for her son again. There wasn't even a flicker of his spark. He was gone. Someone had taken him from her.

Nightshade began running through her system logs frantically. Her spark sank even further when she reached a bright red message, warning her of an unauthorized access. Someone had opened her chest plates and taken Streak from her. Anger started to bubble up in her but was soon replaced by fear. Where was Streak? Who would take him from her? Nightshade reached for him anxiously but the end result was the same. She couldn't access his spark, much less feel his presence.

The door opened. Maia stepped into the room, carrying something in her arms. Nightshade was on her feet in less than a second. She was going to get answers from Maia, even if she had to kill the femme in the process. Maia brightened upon seeing Nightshade up and moving around. Maia didn't notice the dangerous glow of Nightshade's optics.

"Oh, you're awake. Good. How are you feeling?" Maia asked conversationally, setting the blankets down in a chair. Nightshade responded with violence. Nightshade wrapped one of her hands around Maia's thin neck and slammed her up against a nearby bookshelf. Holocubes went flying every which way at the impact.

"Where the _frag _is my son?" Nightshade snarled, her grip tightening. Maia let out a short scream but was cut off by the glowing blue dagger not an inch from the exposed wires and lines in her throat. Her optics widened and she clutched weakly at the hand wrapped around her neck.

"I'm going to ask you again: where is my son?"

"I-I don't know! You were brought in here by one of the d-drones," Maia stammered quietly, trembling slightly. Nightshade's optics were starting to gleam white. Fuel surged into her limbs. The dagger inched closer to Maia's main fuel line and melted the rubber slightly. Maia trembled pitifully.

"Please…I don't know…"

Nightshade let go of the femme. Her rage toward the femme was unjustifiable. It was Emirate she should be trying to kill. Maia slid to the floor, hugging her trembling arms around her knee joints. Nightshade sneered down at the femme.

"Get up. You are taking me to Emirate," Nightshade growled quietly, grabbing Maia's arm and heaving her to her feet.

"Please follow me," Maia whispered quietly. Nightshade returned her dagger to its rightful place and followed Maia silently. A few minutes later, Maia paused in front of a door, knocking quietly.

"Come in." Emirate's voice was muffled slightly. Nightshade could hear Streak's subdued chirping from where she stood. It became very difficult to control herself. Maia opened the door and made to speak, but Nightshade shoved her out of the way. She strode into the room, her optics seeking out the sparkless fragger that had taken Streak from her.

"Give me my son," Nightshade growled quietly, her white optics narrowed. Emirate nodded carelessly, motioning to one of the couches.

"Take him already. I'm sick of hearing him cry for you," Emirate snapped at Nightshade. Nightshade hesitated again. The moment Streak saw his mother, he began warbling pitifully and struggling in the cocoon of blankets. Nightshade tensed as Emirate started moving towards his desk. Nightshade hovered between the couch and door, watching his every move like a hawk. Emirate sat down at his desk and pointedly ignored her. Nightshade took the chance to hurry over to her son and pick him up.

Her femme processes were screaming for Streak to be put back into her carrying hold where he belonged. Her processor wanted Emirate's blood smeared across the floor, walls, and ceiling. Nightshade reached for Streak and quickly drew him close to her chest. A soft warning click from Nightshade's vocal processors and Streak immediately quieted. He curled up tightly against Nightshade's chest plates, trying to burrow into the warm, safe space he knew. Emirate chose that moment to stand back up. Nightshade's optics instantly went back to white at the sudden perceived threat.

Emirate gave her a calculating, unreadable glance as she backed away from the couch slowly, not once taking her optics from his face. He gave her a sharp nod before turning to Maia.

"Maia, take her back to Chromia," Emirate said carelessly, waving his hand at the ivory femme. Emirate crossed in front of his desk and began rifling through a box of sweets. Nightshade growled quietly at the sound of his voice, the tension in the room growing tenfold.

"Why did you take him?" she asked, her voice shaking as she tried to reign in her anger. Emirate let out a long, self-suffering sigh as he turned his optics upward.

"I don't need to explain anything to you, but I will this time only. Optimus Prime needs to understand just how serious the situation is. Prime has two days to meet my demands or else little Streak will die," Emirate said flatly, turning back to Nightshade, "Now get out of here. You are not allowed back in here for any reason unless I call you. Understand? Good. Now go."

Maia recognized the anger seething behind Emirate's neutral face plates and she hurried forward, placing one gentle hand on Nightshade's shoulder.

"Please, let's go," Maia said quietly. Nightshade may have attacked her, but Maia honestly did not want to see Emirate strike her for her insubordination. The blue femme didn't know how Emirate ran his ship just yet. Maia began pulling back gently, trying to shield Nightshade from the blow that was sure to come.

"Touch my son again, Emirate, and I will take pleasure from slitting your throat and watching you die," Nightshade snarled, her optics glowing brightly. Emirate crossed the room in three quick strides. He raised his hand to hit her, but seemingly decided against it. He gently ran one finger down her cheek plate before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

"Threaten my life again, femme, and you will regret ever having spoken," he said softly before pushing her away. Emirate turned his sharp gaze over at Maia.

"Maia, take her back to Chromia now. You know how I hate repeating myself."

"Yes, sir," Maia said softly, grabbing Nightshade's arm and almost hauling her out of the room. Once outside of the room, Nightshade wrenched her arm from Maia's death grip and pushed the femme away.

"Touch me again," Nightshade warned quietly. Maia nodded and glanced back at Emirate's door, wringing her hands worriedly.

"_Please_ follow me," Maia begged. Nightshade gave her a curt nod.

"Lead the way."

Maia nodded, relieved that Nightshade was cooperating. She hurried down the hallway. After a few minutes of silence, Maia stopped in front of a door and pressed her hand against a button. It hissed open and Nightshade went in.

"I will see you in the morning," Maia said softly, "If you need anything, a drone can retrieve it for you."

At Nightshade's questioning glance, Maia elaborated.

"Emirate wants to see me tonight," Maia said, ducking her optics down respectfully before speaking once more, "Have a pleasant evening, Nightshade."

With that, Maia turned and disappeared down one of the long, twisting hallways. Nightshade only stared after her, horror filling her spark. How long had poor Maia been dealing with the physical and mental abuse? Nightshade felt her fuel tanks heave but she managed to repress the sensation. Streak chirped quietly, glancing up at his femme creator, not understanding the negative emotion. He nuzzled her chest plates softly, reminding her that he had needs, too.

Nightshade responded with a soft coo of her own, unwrapping the blankets and opening her chest plates. She was surprised when Streak all but launched himself back into the warmth and safety of her carrying chamber. He wasted no time in uploading into her systems and raiding her energon store. Nightshade chuckled quietly, patting her chest plates gently. Streak had inherited his father's voracious appetite.

It was a little over five minutes later before Streak had finished taking what he needed. The little mech then proceeded to curl up tightly and start his recharge sequence. Once she'd made sure that Streak was asleep, Nightshade peered into the room she and Chromia had been sharing. Chromia was sprawled out over the berth, recharging heavily. Nightshade smiled as she sat on the edge of the berth, scanning over Chromia. She and her sparkling were in perfect condition, though they would need energon in a few hours.

Sudden exhaustion consumed her. Nightshade stifled a sleepy yawn and curled up beside Chromia. A few moments of recharge wouldn't hurt.

* * *

And that's it for now. :)


	46. Meet the Sparkling

* * *

Chapter 46: Meet the Sparkling

I know I haven't updated in a long, long time. (dodges volley of blunt objects) Yeah, yeah, but here y'all go.

Carrying belongs to **Litahatchee **from her awesome story **"Night Fire**." Go read it, it's awesome.

Note: I read somewhere on the Metellus Cursor Yahoo Groups that Metellus Cursor was a 'sparked' ship. I think it means that the ship has a spark and that it is sentient. I'm not sure if that's exactly what it means, but I do refer to the term here. I do not own the idea of sparked ship; that belongs to someone else. If you're the owner, please let me know so that I can credit you properly.

I've also borrowed some terminology from Star Trek. If you watch Star Trek or have ever seen it, you'll know what I mean when I say warp core. For those of you who are not fellow Trekkies (live long and prosper), a warp core is basically a huge cylinder filled with…stuff. It glows and it makes the ship go. There's no other way I can describe it.

: _this is private comm. line speak :_

: **this is texting :**

Enjoy. :)

* * *

Night was falling quickly, and Jazz still had not made any headway with the regenerative seals on the ship. After a few moments, the answer hit him. He shuttered his optics and dropped his head to the metal beneath him. How could he have not seen the solution? He used the magnetic pulses from his hands to twist the support struts out of the way. Beneath the thick plating lay the supply main line for the material. He clamped the lines before slicing through the membranes covering the honeycomb pockets. No polymer oozed out. Jazz grinned to himself. Finally, something was going his way!

He ripped out the rest of the wires and lines in the pocket before wriggling into the space. The original hull of the warship was gunmetal grey, dull and covered in a web of crisscrossing scars. Jazz used the small laser scalpel that he had 'borrowed' from the medical bay to start cutting. He had no idea what part of the ship he was cutting into. For all he knew, he was right above Emirate's office!

Jazz used his magnets once more to lift the circular piece of metal out of the hole. Jazz tentatively poked his head into the space he had just created. A second layer of metal blocked his way. He grumbled quietly before cutting once more. He hadn't infiltrated a ship in so long, he'd almost forgotten how much armor a class five war vessel carried.

An hour passed by in silence (or relative silence punctuated by the thuds of metal pieces hitting the ground behind him). He cut away layer upon layer of metal as he cursed the ship and its heavy armor. He was so absorbed in his work that he nearly fell out of the jagged hole when his communicator beeped. After waiting a moment to calm his racing fuel pump, he opened the channel. It was Prowl. Though he knew Prowl could not see him, he grinned charmingly as he spoke suavely.

:_ Jazz-man here. :_

: _Are you in yet?:_

_:Nope. Still cuttin' through the armor.:_

He heard a heavy sigh from Prowl's end of the connection along with a brief flare of anxiety from his spark. It was out of character for Prowl to show so much emotion, but the situation was dire. Jazz spoke soothingly, pausing in his work. Prowl was trying to hide his concern from Jazz, but it was poorly done. Jazz could feel the guilt seeping out.

: _I know, Prowl. The girls are in trouble and so are their little ones. Chromia will take care of them both, alright?:_

Jazz sent as much comfort as he possibly could through their bond. Prowl accepted, reciprocating the gesture just a few moments later.

_:I know you are doing everything that you can, Jazz. I don't want to see them or the sparklings hurt…I wish we knew that they would be together at all times. :_

_:Don't fret, Prowler. We're going to get them out, safe and sound. Don't worry about Nightshade, Prowl. She can defend herself if Chromia's not there. :_

_:Don't call me that, Jazz. You know as well as I do how limited Nightshade's self defense skills are. :_

Jazz dropped his gaze, staring at the medical laser in his hand. Nightshade was seriously lacking in the ability to defend herself. Hopefully, the arrival of her sparkling had instilled some sort of need to protect and defend. All femmes were dangerous when their sparklings were involved. Even the most timid of femmes were known to maim, even kill in some cases, in the defense of their sparkling. Jazz only hoped that the same applied to Nightshade.

_: She's going to be fine. :_

Jazz repeated the statement silently to himself. Knowing that Chromia was there by Nightshade's side did much for his comfort level. The girls would be fine.

_: I hope so. : _

_:Love you...Prowler.:_

:_ Jazz. :_

Jazz snickered quietly. The small gesture of comfort from Prowl renewed his vigor. He began cutting once more, a small smile on his face plates. Jazz didn't know why he was so worried. Chromia was the true embodiment of a warrior femme. She was vicious and cunning, unafraid to neutralize a threat. Jazz smiled as he tossed another piece of support structure over his shoulder. Now that Chromia's femme processes registered her own sparkling and Nightshade's newborn, any kind of threat from Emirate would merit having his spark ripped out with her bare hands.

Through his exhaust port.

Jazz snickered again, shoving aside a power cable. Hopefully, Emirate was intelligent enough to stay away from the femmes. Nightshade may have not been a warrior, but she had a very quick and sneaky processor. She would be able to find a way to avoid a confrontation. And she had taken on Ratchet's wicked aim through osmosis, just in case Emirate did decide to harrass her. He grinned when warm yellow light suddenly washed out of the hole in the ship. He was almost there.

:_Prowl, I'm about to go in. :_

_: I understand, Jazz. Be careful. And…I love you._ :

_:Love you more…Prowlie. :_

For once, there was no reprimand from the stoic tactician. Jazz smiled wryly before cutting off his communicator. He had two femmes to find and one mech to neutralize. With that, he lifted himself into the gap and dropped to the ground. The room beneath was dimly lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The metal crates around him were barely visible in the murky darkness. Was he in some sort of storage unit? He immediately activated his scanning software, searching for lines in the walls. The yellow wires were electrical components and would do him no good. The blue ones were fuel lines. Unless he was hungry for ship-grade energon, he would need to avoid those. Orange lines were weapons lines. Definitely needed to avoid those.

The elusive information bundle glowed bright green in his vision. He pried a metal plate from the wall and began separating the wires, searching for a specific one. He wrapped one cable from his wrist around the one from the wall and began downloading the information. According to the information he had downloaded, he was in the cargo area of the ship. The medical bay, the most likely place Nightshade would be, was on the tenth level.

Jazz silently hacked the door code and began moving.

* * *

Maia waited until Emirate had initiated his recharge sequence before getting up off of the berth. She quietly left the room and made her way to her personal quarters. Her room was spacious and well decorated, but she took no notice of that. Her thoughts were focused entirely on her soon-to-be Mistress and her Master's new consort. Chromia was very beautiful and quite spirited. Maia could see why Emirate wanted her so desperately. She absently started the shower unit, letting the cool fluid run over her hand.

The femme let out a soft sigh, echoing the sound Nightshade had made. It was an odd noise, but it was capable of relaying so much emotion. It sounded sad and wistful, perfect for what she was feeling at the moment. Nightshade was going to replace her eventually as Emirate's consort. Maia was already tending to the femmes, so maybe he would keep her as their attendant. Or would he sell her to someone else? She absently rubbed at a streak of green paint on her arm, watching as the solvent washed it away. Nightshade and Chromia were such lovely femmes, even though they were a bit violent. She went and stood underneath the drying vent for a few minutes, allowing herself the small pleasure of the heated air circulating over her shell. She shuttered her optics and focused her thoughts on the small blue femme. She was a blessed femme, even though she probably didn't realize just how much was a trained medic, she had loving mate, and a sparkling of her own.

A sparkling...

Maia wistfully rubbed her abdomen. The day she came of age, Emirate had had her reproductive tank removed. He wanted nothing to do with a sparkling. He _hated_ them and she wondered why. The femme before her had conceived, a mistake he never wanted to repeat. Maia wondered where the other femme was now. He had dropped her off with a family in the Praxus nebula. Where was the youngling? It would have been an adult by now. She leaned against the wall of the bathing room heavily, shuttering her optics tightly. Little Streak was the first sparkling she had ever seen. Seeing the tiny grey mech tremble from the cold and fear in her Master's office had all but broken her spark. She rubbed her abdomen again, wishing she could hold the little one. Nightshade would never allow it, though. Maia made the sighing noise again, standing up straight.

Emirate had left her carrying chamber and carrying files intact. She could not conceive, but she could carry a sparkling. Maia's spark ached for Chromia. If Emirate ever sired a sparkling by her, it would be taken from her immediately after the sparkling was strong enough to be upgraded. Maia, most likely Nightshade, would be the one to raise it while Emirate and Chromia were off vacationing or negotiating. He would allow Chromia to carry it periodically to make sure it didn't die. Maia slowly walked out into her room, gazing at the comfortable berth. She dimmed the lights and sank into the firm cushions, shuttering her optics the moment her head touched the plush fabric.

* * *

Ratchet sat in the command center, staring at the far wall. His mind was racing and his spark was in turmoil. He couldn't feel Nightshade or Streak. Numbness settled in his fuel tanks when his spark shuddered in its casing. Nightshade was going to be fine. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. The only way he would was to see and hold them in his arms. He called to Nightshade again through their bond.

The cold sensation of the unanswered call spread through him once more, numbing him to his very core.

He called to Streak hopefully.

Still nothing. The cold sensation spread further and further until he could not feel anything but the pain of an unfinished bond.

Ironhide was watching over Ratchet carefully. Ironhide was worried about Chromia but he knew that she could take care of herself. Nightshade, on the other hand… Red Alert had given him the details of the birth and the events surrounding it. Ironhide didn't know how the femme could be online and coherent with all that had happened. For just a moment, Ironhide reached out and briefly touched Ratchet's shoulder. The mech did not respond.

Ratchet could bear the pain of being separated from Nightshade. All sparks were capable of 'tuning' out the inherent need to be with its other half. If the distance was maintained, then the resonance would eventually become background noise and fade away until reunited. However, if a mech or femme was separated from a sparkling before a complete bond was established, then the pain would escalate until it became unbearable. Who knew what Ratchet would do in his desperation?

"Jazz is in the ship," Optimus said gently, trying to rouse the mech.

Ratchet didn't respond.

His optics had faded to grey.

* * *

"Are you going to cooperate, Mr. Witwicky?" the agent asked. Sam let out an annoyed huff before glaring up at the man. The agent held his gaze, giving him the slightest smirk.

"I've already told you. I don't know what is going on," Sam grit out. The tepid hot cocoa sat by his elbow, forgotten in the hours that had passed. The agent merely nodded and went back to his game of Tetris. Simmons was texting away on his cell phone. Occasionally, he would ask the other agent his opinion on food choices. Sam's stomach growled quietly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since that platter of dim sum yesterday. Sam wondered if the government fed its prisoners.

"You know, you could always go up there and ask him yourself," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. The rude agent ignored him completely. Simmons shot him a brief sympathetic look before looking over at the other man.

"You need a potty break, kid?" Simmons asked. Sam nodded, ignoring Reggie's slip up.

"Yeah. My bladder's about to burst," Sam said, somehow managing to do the pee dance in his chair. Simmons nodded and stood up, motioning for him to do the same. The other agent nodded and leaned his chair back against the wall, putting his feet up on the table.

"You've got five minutes," he said dismissively, closing his eyes. Simmons made quick work of escorting the young man to the nearby bathrooms. Once inside, Simmons handed over his cellphone. Without speaking, he motioned over to one of the toilet stalls.

"Two minutes," he warned quietly. Sam immediately sat down and began texting Bee. Simmons may have been an ass, but he still knew that the situation was dire. Prime knew what was going on; the President, unfortunately, did not. Besides, Simmons respected Optimus. Giving him a warning about the situation was fair and honorable. Simmons also knew that the resident aliens were hiding some pretty impressive weaponry if Ironhide was anything to go by. They would have to tread very cautiously until they knew the aliens were on their side.

* * *

With an aggravated huff, Jazz snuck back down the way he had come. Nightshade was not in the medical bay. He should have known better than that, though. It was nearly one in the morning. Nightshade was probably recharging. Ratchet groused about her sleeping habits every once in a while, especially when she took up the entire berth. Jazz snickered – once Streak got older, Ratchet would have to compete for time with Nightshade. He activated his strongest electrical scanner and began exploring. The bright yellow lines in the wall indicated electrical charges. The rooms he passed were blue violet. There were no lights or devices on. Good, less for him to look through. He continued down the hallway and noticed the white oblong shapes in the walls. As he drew nearer to the wall, he could begin to see details. The electrical hotspots were niches in the wall, each one containing a small drone.

He made a note to tell Prime about that before continuing down the hallway. He looked left and right. The right seemed to be completely shut down because it was pitch black. There wasn't even a mote of electricity in the half of the hallway. He turned down the left branch of the hallway. This hallway was dim, but still active. Jazz could see a glowing white square in his vision. This room was an electrical hotspot, just like the drone niches.

He crept closer and knelt beside the door. Whose room was this? Were Chromia and Nightshade inside? Using a tiny drill in one of his subspace pockets, he made an equally tiny hole in the wall. He inserted an optical fiber and waited for the software to load.

The room was empty but he could see dim light from one of the adjoining rooms. He could barely see two figures inside. One shape was sitting up; the other was sprawled across the berth. Yup, that was Nightshade. Or maybe it wasn't. He ignored the urge to sprint inside. Jazz immediately hacked the door pad beside the door. He inched the door open ever so slowly, taking great care not to make any noise. He opened it just enough to slide in before entering and shutting the door behind him. His systems quieted as his spy programming booted up. There were two targets in this room. Friendly? Or not friendly? He would have to find out himself. Stealthy as a shadow, he crept up beside the door frame and began listening quietly. He smiled when he recognized the two voices. Jazz peered around the corner and was pleasantly surprised at what he saw.

Then he smiled again, taking a photograph with his optical software subtly. Now, he had to make his presence known.

* * *

Nightshade brought her optics on line. Was it really time to wake up? Chromia was sitting beside her in the berth, reading a holocube. Nightshade groaned quietly and pulled the cushion down over her head. When her processor alerted her to the fact that Streak's motor functions were about to come online, she knew that she had no chance of recharging.

"What time is it, Chromia?" she mumbled.

"A little after one," Chromia said absently, flipping to the next display.

"In the afternoon?" Nightshade asked. Strangely enough, it felt like she had recharged for an hour or two. Streak stretched out. His power cells were fully charged. It was time to play!

"No you silly femme. In the morning," Chromia said, like she was explaining something to a rather stupid sparkling. Nightshade lifted the cushion off of her head and made a face at Chromia before speaking. She would forgive her for now.

"Then why am I awake?"

"Pit if I know, femme," Chromia said absently, turning to a different page. Nightshade grumbled quietly and turned over onto her side. A moment later, Nightshade flopped onto her back. Streak wriggled. He didn't like the sensation of his mother tossing and turning. Unable to get comfortable, Nightshade sat up and peered over Chromia's shoulder. Streak had enough of the shifting gravity. He growled quietly before…

_**- clang -**_

Nightshade yelped in pain and doubled over, her hands pressed against her chest plates. Chromia looked over at her, concerned.

"What is it?" she asked, setting her holocube down.

"Streak wants out," Nightshade groused quietly. Streak was squirming restlessly, alternating between kicking and hitting. Nightshade could feel the beginnings of amusement radiating from his little spark. Chromia smiled when Nightshade began giggling once more. His squirming tickled her very sensitive carrying chamber. Then Nightshade's giggles stopped abruptly when Streak kicked out again. That fragging _hurt._ She cursed the sensitivity of her carrying chamber. Maybe she could turn it off? It's not like she _really _needed to know what Streak was up to in there; at this point in time, the only thing he'd only be doing is sleeping and raiding her energon stores.

"Let him out then. I want to see Ratchet's demon spawn," Chromia said, sitting up and facing Nightshade. Nightshade glared at her but relented. Her chest plates parted halfway and little Streak tumbled out into her arms. Finally, he was free!

Streak was clicking wildly, eager to see the world around him. The little mech less than a day old and was already trying to worm his way around. Nightshade set him down on his stomach on the berth. He began wriggling, trying to propel himself forwards. He was neither strong nor coordinated enough to move so he gave up, content to just lie there and allow his mother to pet him. Nightshade gently turned him over onto his back. Streak waved his tiny hands up at her. He reached to her spark and sent her as much love as he could. When Nightshade responded in the same way, he warbled happily.

Then he saw Chromia. He immediately curled up, wary of the strange new femme. The last new mech he had seen had taken him from his mother and left him in the cold, and Streak didn't want that to happen again. Nightshade stroked his head softly. Chromia gently reached out to him, caressing his arm. Streak chirped when he realized that it wasn't his mother that was petting him. There was a strange presence in the room. Was that the other femme's spark? Her presence was comforting. He uncurled slowly, looking up at the strange femme. There was something on his arm. Streak grabbed her hand and examined it closely. It looked like his hand, but it was much bigger. Streak's face plates screwed up for a moment, as though he was thinking quite hard. Then he bit down on her finger. Hard.

Nightshade giggled at Chromia's stifled yelp. Chromia gently pulled her hand away, wincing at the dents embedded in her finger. Streak looked up at the new femme and clicked excitedly. He liked this new femme, especially the funny faces she made. He wriggled when Nightshade picked him up. He clicked softly, wanting to be held close to his mother. It was cold in the room, and he didn't like it at all. Chromia scooted even closer, allowing Nightshade to deposit the sparkling into her arms.

"Well hello there, little one," Chromia cooed, using a finger to tickle his abdominal plates. He squealed, batting at her hands.

"You are too cute to have Ratchet for a sire," Chromia continued, ignoring Nightshade's caustic glare. Streak chirped again. The strange new femme had a pretty voice like mother. She was warm and her spark was so nice to lie against. It wasn't anywhere as good as his mother's, but it would do for the moment.

"Say hello to Aunty Chromia," Nightshade said, stroking Streak's little head gently. Streak blinked up at Chromia, his head cocked. He watched the two femmes converse quietly.

"Aunty Chromia?" Chromia asked, her optical ridge raised slightly.

"Well, I thought it sounded cute," Nightshade said defensively. Streak wriggled unhappily. He was tired of this femme, he wanted his mother!

"I think he wants to go back with you," Chromia said. Nightshade allowed Chromia to put him back into her arms. He cuddled into her chest plates. This was where he wanted to be, right above mother's spark. There wasn't anywhere else in the world that he would rather be. Nightshade absently rubbed Streak's back plates.

"Is…is he purring?" Chromia asked, grinning. They both fell silent and listened as little Streak purred his contentment. He sensed the stares of the femmes and looked up. Nightshade nuzzled his head gently. She smiled when Streak reached up to touch her face plates. His tiny hand brushed over her lip components and cheek plates. Nightshade kissed his fingers and he chirped once more.

"Huh. I thought Ratchet's kid woulda had horns and a tail," came a soft voice from the doorway.

Chromia leapt out of the berth, one of Nightshade's smuggled surgical lasers in her hand. Nightshade reacted instinctively. She clutched Streak to her chest, shielding the vulnerable sparkling in her arms. Streak began whimpering quietly, though a soft warning click from Nightshade silenced him. He trembled against her chest plates, wanting to go into her carrying hold where it was safe.

"You little fragger," Chromia snarled, throwing the tool at Jazz's head. He ducked and easily avoided being hit.

"Is that any way to greet your rescuer?" he said, bounding over to Chromia and hugging her. She hugged him back, patting the top of his head. Jazz barely reached the bottom of her chassis. He purred happily as he cuddled into her chassis. She smacked him hard, leaving a sizable dent in his armor.

"You're getting a bit friendly, you little glitch," she warned quietly. He gave her a cheeky grin before looking over at Nightshade. The femme was watching him carefully, trying to decide if he was a threat to her sparkling. Apparently, she didn't think so, and slowly lowered her arms. Chromia took this as a good sign. After what Emirate had done, Chromia half expected Nightshade to fritz if any male approached her sparkling.

"Is it okay for me to go and say hey to the little guy?" Jazz asked Chromia softly. He knew that Emirate had taken Streak from Nightshade. He also knew that if he approached without her permission, he would end up in the medical bay. Chromia made a soft humming noise.

"That's up to her, Jazz. Do you want me to ask?" Chromia asked. Jazz nodded eagerly, subtly taking a few more photographs. Chromia returned to Nightshade's side and sat down on the edge of the berth. She made a silly face up at Jazz on impulse. Streak was quietly curled up. The last strange mech he had met had taken him from his mother. Was this one here to do it again?

"Jazz wants to see Streak, is it alright?" Chromia asked. Nightshade slowly nodded.

"I don't know how he is going to react. Sit down beside me and give us both a moment," Nightshade said quietly. The mech obeyed her and slowly approached. He leaned over Nightshade's shoulder and peered at the tiny grey protoform in her arms. Nightshade gently ran one hand down Streak's back, softly cooing to him.

"There, there, Streak. Jazz won't hurt you," she said. Streak slowly looked up, squeaking in fright when he saw Jazz. He immediately burrowed into Nightshade's chest plates, trying to get back into the warm safe space of her carrying hold. Nightshade looked up to Jazz and shook her head.

"He's too frightened right now, Jazz. Maybe you can visit later, when I've calmed him down," Nightshade said. Jazz nodded, using a finger to gently touch Streak's arm.

"He's beautiful, Nightshade. Congratulations," Jazz breathed, slowly backing away from the femme and her frightened sparkling. Nightshade nodded and smiled.

"Thank you, Jazz. And…good luck."

"You're welcome Nightshade. I'll do my best," Jazz said, nodding his head in her direction. Jazz stopped by Chromia. He gave her a wide grin.

"Oh…and Chromia? I've got a present for you," he sang. Chromia lifted one optical ridge. Jazz walked over to one of the tables and unsubspaced a plethora of weapons. Chromia's optics widened in absolute glee. She grinned at Jazz.

"Thank you Jazz. I won't tell Prowl or Ironhide that you touched my chassis," Chromia said, "Now get out of here, you little fragger. Make sure you tell Ratchet that Nightshade and Streak are doing well and that I will take care of them both."

Jazz nodded, sharply saluting the femme.

"It will be my pleasure, Chromia."

With that, Jazz turned and left the room. Chromia watched as the door slid shut behind Jazz before turning back to the pile of weapons he had left for her. She subspaced everything but a pair of handheld daggers and a few thermite grenades. Chromia prayed that Nightshade would not need to use the weapons, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

Nightshade clicked softly to Streak, but his little spark continued its panicky calls. He desperately pawed at the seam of her chest plates, whimpering and squeaking quietly. Nightshade opened her chest plates and allowed Streak to upload into her systems. The little one was afraid of mechs thanks to what Emirate did. She soothed him through their bond the best she could. He eventually calmed down. He curled up in her carrying hold and initiated his recharge programs. Nightshade curled up and buried her head underneath a few cushions, purring at the warm darkness.

Chromia rolled her optics skyward before shaking her head. She turned back to her holocube.

* * *

Knowing that the femmes were safe and sound was a serious morale booster for Jazz. He could now focus on his new task. Disabling the ship propulsion systems and weapons were at the top of his list. First, he would have to find the engine room. If he disabled the warp core and damaged some of the neural circuits, he would be able to buy some time for Optimus. Emirate wouldn't be able to fly more than a few miles on just the thrusters. Jazz referred to the information he had downloaded from the ship. It wasn't a sparked ship, so he didn't need to worry about being discovered upon entering the engine room.

The engine room was at the very bottom of the ship, nestled between the forward cargo hatch and the fuel tank. Jazz slid along the wall toward one of the elevators. The hallway was empty. The elevator was on the floor above him, stopped for the night. Jazz thought for a moment. It would be much faster to use his magnets to slide down the elevator shaft. And it would be difficult for him to be detected. He pried the doors open and peered over the edge. It was a long, long way down.

Jazz carefully swung his legs over the edge and began climbing down, expertly alternating the magnetic pulses on his hands. It took him almost a full cycle to descend into the belly of the ship, and by that time, he was utterly exhausted. He had wrenched something in his arm on the way down but he refused to let it slow him down. They were so close to storming the ship and saving the femmes.

Jazz crept into the engine room, peering around the dusky room. The warp core glinted brightly in the darkness, the blue radiation from the dilithium dancing across the containment walls. Jazz maneuvered himself underneath one of the side consoles. The safety net built into the programming immediately shut down the warp core to avoid a breach once Jazz had finished tinkering around with the electrical components. Jazz destroyed the series of relays he had just ripped out. It would take Emirate joors to replace that piece of equipment.

He went to another console and ejected the fuel cells of the ship. He heard two loud reverberating thuds as the large metallic containers hit the ground outside. He smirked. Prime now had a way to power his trading vessels. Now all that Emirate had were the magnetic thrusters, and those wouldn't last very long without the fuel cells.

Jazz made his way back to the storage unit he had come in through. He now had to locate twelve nuclear warheads and disable them. They were concentrated in the nose of the ship, just in front of the forward landing gears. It took him a few moments to strip away the decorative hull and locate the cargo hatches.

Twelve red nuclear warheads glinted at him. With trembling hands, Jazz began dismantling each bomb slowly and carefully. Two mechs appeared out of the forest, carrying a containment box. Jazz gently lifted out the first metal sphere. It was solid and heavy with the volatile plutonium. Jazz shivered when he set it into the dimpled foam in the bottom of the box. One of those spheres was enough to level an area the size of San Francisco. Jazz slowly worked his way to the last one. The last sphere was gently set in place. The lid was sealed and locked. The two mechs disappeared back into the forest. Jazz watched as they slid back into the base.

Not five minutes later, the hangar bay doors parted. The trading shuttle had been programmed to fly straight into the sun. The sun would absorb the radiation from the explosion and disperse it. Cosmos and Astrotrain transformed, flying ahead of the shuttle and providing a formidable escort. Jazz watched as the afterburners from the three ships twinkled in the night sky. They disappeared among the stars. He sighed. Astrotrain and Cosmos wouldn't be back for almost two weeks. Though they were fast, none of the three were equipped with dilithium reserves. He was startled from the thought by his comm. line beeping quietly at him.

: _Jazz, this is Optimus. :_

_: What is it, sir? :_

_: We've just received word that the President has declared us a threat to national security. :_

Jazz swore quietly. The President had a few chips loose somewhere. Who knew what he would do now? Things with Emirate were starting to draw to a close, but now the President was involved. He was about to declare war on them. If other countries got involved, they would have to flee.

_: I'm already moving as fast as I can, sir. Any faster and I might screw somethin' up. :_

_: Bumblebee is on his way to Sam's family. We will be accommodating the humans and their families until we know that they are safe. :_

_: Understood, sir. I'll try to move as quickly as I can. :_

_: I know you will, Jazz. Thank you. :_

_: Prime? Can you give this to Ratchet? :_

_: What is it? :_

Jazz smiled.

_: A few photographs that I took of Nightshade playing with Light Streak. :_

Jazz couldn't see Prime, but he knew that Prime was smiling. Jazz sent Optimus the photographs. Unspoken relief and gratitude poured from the leader.

:_ Thank you, Jazz. Primus only knows how much Ratchet needs this. :_

_: You're welcome, sir. :_

Prime waited a second before turning back to Ratchet. The mech was still sitting in the same seat he had sank into a few hours ago. Prime downloaded the image onto a datapad, smiling as it came up on the 3D display. Nightshade was sitting up against something with Light Streak lying across her chest plates, a small dreamy smile on her face plates. The little mech was touching Nightshade's cheek, his big blue optics wide in wonder.

"Ratchet?"

The mech glanced up at Optimus but did not speak.

"Jazz thought you might like this," Optimus said gently, handing Ratchet the datapad. He glanced at it and froze upon seeing Nightshade and Streak. The mech shuttered his optics. His broad shoulders began trembling as he struggled to keep his composure. His mate was safe. His son was safe. Ironhide grunted as he wrapped one arm around Ratchet's shoulders in an awkward, comforting one-armed hug. A few of the other mechs in the command center shot them strange looks, but the menacing snarl on Ironhide's face plates sent them scurrying. Ironhide glanced over at the photograph and burst into laughter as the display changed.

"Chromia sure knows how to ruin a beautiful moment, don't she, Ratchet?" Ironhide asked. Nightshade was leaning up against Chromia, smiling up at Jazz. Streak was curled up in her arms, his tiny grey body barely visible. Chromia, being the silly femme that she was, had her optics crossed and her glossa sticking out. Ratchet snickered quietly, wiping at his optics with a trembling hand.

"That femme of yours," he said, changing to the next photograph. Streak was lying on the recharge berth, his tiny feet kicking into the air. Ratchet wondered how Jazz had gotten so close to Streak, but then realized that Jazz had probably been hiding. Chromia and Nightshade hadn't even seen him. Ratchet was completely enraptured by Streak. He touched the light-matter display, wishing that it was his son in his arms and not a holograph. Ironhide grunted as he heaved himself to his feet. He made his way back to Prime's side.

"Is he alright?" Optimus asked quietly. Ironhide nodded.

"He'll be fine," Ironhide said gruffly, glancing over at his friend.

* * *

You see? Nothing TOO bad there. :)


	47. National Emergency

The template for the president's executive order was borrowed the actual White House page and from one of ex-President Bush's orders.

Okay, I don't want the government to beat down my door and imprison me for slander, so here you go: My president has no connections to any living or dead person. He is a fictional character created for this fictional story. He is only a figment of my overactive imagination. Got it?

Anyways, moving on.

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee from her story "Night Fire".

I wrote a story for Plenoptic's birthday. It can be found at this link:

www.

fanfiction.

.net/s/4704379/1/

Go read it, it's smutty. :)

* * *

President Smith stood at the windows of the Oval Office, staring out at the expansive green lawns. The flood lights from the guard towers illuminated every blade of grass before suddenly plunging into murky darkness past the security fence. The gold curtains drifted slightly in the blast of cold air from the air conditioning units. He stared for another moment before turning around and sinking into his seat. He reclined in the buttery soft leather, his hands resting lightly on the armrests.

"Are you ready to continue, Mr. President?" the gruff general asked. His posture was straight, tall and proud, honed by many years in the military. President Smith nodded carelessly and straightened up, picking up the Mont Blanc sitting by his elbow. His hand hovered over the document as he read the document aloud.

"By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including the First National Responses Act, and the National Emergency Defense Act, prompted by the recent hostile actions of the resident aliens, I hereby order as follows…"

He paused, making sure his audience was captivated. The various generals in the room were all standing eerily still, half-hidden in the shadows surrounding the desk. He cleared his throat slightly and continued reading.

"…Section one is as follows: To provide further authority to the Department of Defense to respond to continual and any further hostile action from the hostile aliens, including the declaration of war and hostilities toward civilians of the United States, any enlisted persons and officers of the Navy, Air Force, and Army will be placed under the immediate direction of the Secretary of Defense."

President Smith looked up once more. Keller had been 'escorted' to the room by two rather burly Secret Service agents. Keller nodded crisply, acknowledging that the President had spoken to him.

"I hope you are ready to serve your country, Mr. Keller," Smith said softly, barely able to hide the cynicism in his voice.

"I've served my country since the day I walked into the enlistment office, sir, and I will continue to uphold the Constitution and her amendments until the day I die," Keller said, his voice equally soft, though his voice trembled slightly with rage.

"Excellent, Mr. Keller. I'll need you to sign this document," President Smith said, carelessly sliding the thick packet across the table. Keller picked it up, squinting suspiciously up at the President. He thumbed through the first few pages.

"Why do you need my signature?"

"You know that I can't authorize a nuclear strike without your signature," President Smith scolded gently, almost as though he was speaking to a child.

"I will _not_ authorize a nuclear strike," Keller said, shoving the papers back across the desk. The President gave him an amused look.

"It wasn't a request, Keller. Here. You can even use my nice new expensive pen," the President prompted, holding out the pen. Keller drew back, revolted with the man's actions. The generals and military advisors were all escorted from the room when the President waved his hand at them. He had to speak with Keller. Alone.

"Then you are hereby placed under arrest for aiding and abetting enemies of the United States of America," President Smith said, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. He gave Keller a sarcastic good-bye wave as the agents picked him up and out of his seat.

"You have no right to - !"

"I have every right to protect this country and her people," President Smith hissed angrily, standing up and slamming his hands against the desk. After a brief struggle, Keller fell still. His chest heaved from exertion. For a moment, he did not speak.

"Protecting our country or your financial interests?" Keller asked quietly, "You don't think that I know where those millions of dollars end up going?"

"Keller, if you know what's best for you…"

"No, Mister President," Keller said, spitting out the words as though they burned his tongue, "It would be in your best interests to shred those nuclear strike papers, _sir_. I happen to know that one of our allies just so happens to have digital copies of all of your transactions. And it would be a terrible shame if those documents were accidentally leaked to the world mere weeks before re-elections, now wouldn't it?"

Keller felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine at the glare the President sent in his direction. It was a half-truth, in actuality. The President had been funneling away funds to a bank in the Bahamas, but there was no paper trail. Keller kept the glare firmly in place, his eyes defiantly locked on with the President's.

"Very well, Mr. Keller. You don't need to sign," The President said at long last, "But if anyone even mentions it, you will be relocated to Guantanamo for blackmail and extortion."

"I understand," Keller said, dropping into his seat and rubbing his aching wrists. The other man nodded, straightening the cuffs on his long sleeve shirt.

"I am going to propose stricter rules regarding our resident aliens. This sudden turn in events concerns me greatly. I will need to speak to Prime, so please get into contact with him as soon as possible," he said smoothly. Keller stared openly. President Smith _never_ said please. He _never_ negotiated. Keller nodded briskly after a moment. Re-elections were coming up, and the citizens of the United States needed a strong leader. His Presidential orders were already starting to garner attention from the senate and even from the public. Keller may have disliked Smith openly, but they needed to stand together if they were to break the news to the world and expect to maintain order and stability.

"Very well, sir."

"Optimus Prime has already let me know of his intentions to trade with other nations. I propose that we send in a government agent to regulate trade and negotiations. Since they still reside on our soil, they cannot make treaties regarding our land, sea, or airspace," Smith said nonchalantly, staring down at his desk thoughtfully, "Now, I know that Prime isn't going to agree to us constantly monitoring them, so I'll have to give him the benefit of a doubt when it comes to trading and such. They are not a nation of their own – we'll have to send someone in to study how their culture works and we will go from there…for now, they are limited to that two mile by two mile square of land."

Keller stared, his mouth agape. He quickly shut his mouth. The President had an agenda of his own, and Keller would have to figure it out as quickly as possible. The man loved his power and would do anything to keep it. Even forsake the Autobots.

"The Constitution does not provide for alien races seeking asylum, so a few additions will need to be made. I propose that once they are revealed that we make a few alterations to the Constitution. No voting rights, of course, since they are their own 'nation'…"

* * *

Nightshade swung her legs over the edge of the berth, pausing when Chromia flopped onto her front, mumbling something about Ironhide. Nightshade got to her feet, walking to the niche in the wall and staring at the impressive inventory of weapons that Jazz had brought them. Her fuel pump pounded. Was she going to be able to do this? Her hand drifted to cover the compartment in her chest where Streak lay safely tucked away. She _would_do it. Losing wasn't an option; it couldn't be an option. She couldn't be a defenseless femme any more – the tiny sparkling housed in her chest was her main concern, her _only_ concern. She had brought life into this world, and now he was her responsibility to safeguard.

She shivered. She had killed before, sending no less than a dozen sparks to be weighed and judged by Primus, but those mechs and femmes were the worst of the war. They were thieves, assassins, and rapists, taking what they wanted, pillaging, burning, and plundering. They had believed Megatron's seductive words, believing that by following him, they were exempt from the laws that bound their society. They believed that they could overturn their Prime's will, and their deeds could not go unpunished. Now she had to end this, and make sure that her son outlived her.

Nightshade sifted through the weapons in the niche, bypassing the guns and small rocket launcher. She subspaced six small flash grenades, one frag grenade, and a pair of energy daggers. One went into each wrist compartment. Nightshade sighed. How ironic – a dancer's bracelets were symbolically a sign of peace and harmony between the femme and her music, and those compartments were now being used to house weapons of death. Nightshade shook Chromia's shoulder.

"Chromia?" she asked softly.

"…what?" the femme asked grumpily, not bothering to remove the cushion from her head.

"I will see you later, Chromia."

"Bye," the femme grunted. Nightshade smiled sadly before turning to the door. She checked her chronometer. It was seven thirty three in the morning. Today was their last day. Nightshade set off down the hallway, trying to look as innocent and as inconspicuous as possible. She opened the door to the medical bay, glancing around the pristine white room. Ratchet would enjoy this room. It had all of the necessary amenities, along with some very interesting gadgets. She sat down at her desk, flipping through some of the datapads she had managed to dig up. Now, how could she get him into the medical bay without arousing suspicion?

Emirate hadn't had a physical. She smiled wryly. It seemed getting a physical was more dangerous than it sounded. She had been discovered during her physical. And now, Emirate was going to die during his. Well, she hoped it wouldn't come to killing because she would rather hand him over to Prime or Ironhide. She opened up a comm. to the mech, smirking at his irritated groan.

"Please report to sick bay. Your physical is scheduled for today at seven forty five," Nightshade said coolly, cutting off the line before he could retort. She folded her hands across her desk, feeling the weapons in her arms shift. She could do this. Taking a deep quaff of air into her systems, she shuttered her optics and forced her body to relax.

There would only be one shot.

She had to make it count. Images of Ratchet floated into her processor. Wouldn't he be proud of her for taking the initiative? He'd commented on her peaceful nature when it came to physical violence, comparing her physical restraint to her inability to control her vocal modulator. She smiled wryly, and her spark eventually returned to its normal peaceful state. She filtered air in and out; filtering it, processing it, and dividing it up between her heated systems.

There was a soft knock on the door. Nightshade's optics sprang open as she sat up. The door opened and Emirate entered, looking extremely upset. He sat down on the table without waiting for an invitation. Nightshade forced her hands to stop shaking and went out into the room. He growled.

"Next time, schedule my physical for a later hour," he snapped at her. She only rolled her optics, turning to the cabinet beside her. She subtly switched over to her electrical reserves, wincing as her engine began to shut down. Her engine processed too much fuel at once. She was going to need silence if she was going to properly assassinate the fool. How she _hated_ switching from energy source to energy source, but it had to be done. Streak began wriggling, alarmed that the strong thrumming of his mother's engine suddenly ceased.

Nightshade comforted him gently, reassuring him. Streak settled down, but she could still sense the little mech's anxiety.

"Hmph – it doesn't matter. When I grow tired of Chromia, you'll be sharing my berth, so you'll learn my recharge habits soon enough," Emirate said, glancing around the room. Nightshade ignored him, sifting through the equipment. Emirate was seated with his back to the wall. Not a good position for him to be in. She couldn't attack from in front.

Nightshade sat down in front of Emirate with a datapad in one hand. She began examining his exoskeleton, poking and prodding gently. Emirate a loud impatient noise, but didn't argue with her. She watched him carefully, watching for an opportunity to strike.

* * *

Eek!


	48. Ending

Chapter 48

Oh shnap. Chapter 48! Two more chapters! Alrighty. Down to business. I don't own Transformers, obviously, but I do own my OC's and the medical procedures that I thought up of.

The fabulous **Litahatchee** owns the concept of carrying, and it can be found in her story **"Night Fire".**

Much love for the folks over on DA! Y'all are awesome. :3 Especially xanaplayer, melaniedraidnt24, and Transflashbacks!

Oh, yeah. If you have a sparkling, and would like for me to add it to the picture that I'm drawing, please PM me (with your DA name) and let me know! I have TWO slots open. For your sparkling to be included, the following requirements must be met:

1. It cannot be a canon character - it must be an OC.

2. You must have written a story for it already.

3. You must have a really, really good physical description of the little guy/gal. And if you'd like to make my life easier, a reference picture. Preferably (but not necessarily) colored. :3

4. It will take me a while to get everything finished, so don't bother me until I message you. I might message with updates, but don't hold your breath.

5. You must like dragons.

Well, that's enough of that. Anyone else, if you have a DA account, let me know so I can say hi. :)

* * *

Many vorns in the future, when Nightshade would look back on the fateful ordeal with Emirate that winter morning, she would always come to the conclusion that it had all been too easy.

Far too easy.

Like a young lamb led into the lion's pride, Emirate had fallen for her spur-of-the-moment physical. He never suspected a thing. Nightshade had always known that a physician was more powerful than the title implied. Though not graced with the power of a front line warrior, the sharp-shooting skills of a gunner, or the combat knowledge of a tactician, she could literally hold her patient's life in the palm of her hand.

It all boiled down to pure trust.

Emirate had known Nightshade for all of one human week, and he trusted her completely. Her title as an assistant physician had instantly cleared her of any and all suspicion, solely based on the fact that he believed that she was what she was - a life saver. She could have pumped him full of poison and told him it was an energon transfusion, and he wouldn't have lived long enough to ask what it was for. She could have taken his entire motor network down and disassembled him piece-by-piece, and he wouldn't even be able to scream. She could have ripped his still-pulsating spark from his chest and watched his optics power down, but Nightshade wasn't merciful enough to give him a quick death.

Emirate had trusted Nightshade, unable to find much fault with her cold and distant disposition. He had deemed her as a submissive femme. As an honest femme. A complacent femme. Physically weaker than he and easily cast aside. Nightshade was all of this, but unfortunately for Emirate, Nightshade was also a mother. A young one, but a mother nonetheless. And he had threatened her son for the last time.

* * *

Emirate lay on the cold steel table, his bright green optics looking at everything but Nightshade. The femme remained cool and collected, her hands darting over his frame as she did her job. Even though Emirate would soon be neutralized, she was still going to do a good job. Ratchet had trained her well, and she was going to make sure it reflected when they took the body out. She jotted down a few notes, watching as she drew the bold curling spirals of Cybertronian. On a whim, she added a flourish to the end of her sentence.

Emirate watched her for a moment.

"Where were you trained?" Emirate asked, breaking the silence.

"Hm? Oh. At the Kalis Dance Academy. Why do you ask?" Nightshade asked, politely indifferent to his question. Emirate pointed at the scroll she had added to her sentence.

"Your calligraphy is faultless. I did not know that the dance academy provided other types of lessons," Emirate said, taking the data pad from her and examining the femme's handiwork. Nightshade bit down her anger and tapped her foot impatiently. After a moment, he handed it back to her. He did not speak, but only gave her a cool glance that she had come to interpret as 'continue'.

"Yes. We were taught many different subjects to weed out those that were not fit to become dancers," Nightshade said, gently prodding underneath his armor. Emirate crossed his arms behind his head, ignoring the fact that she had been examining his elbow. Nightshade bit down on her glossa, counting quietly. She could not afford to anger him. Not when she was so close to being free.

"Explain it to me," Emirate said, examining the back of his hand.

"Very well. We were woken every morning about a half-joor before the first sun rose. After refueling, the younger femmes were escorted to their primary courses - learning how to keep an estate, manage servants, care for sparklings, and other things - by the elder femmes."

Emirate nodded approvingly. "As all femmes should be taught early in life." Nightshade ignored him and continued - those courses were helpful, but she wasn't exactly living on an estate right now.

"If not tutoring or escorting, elder femmes are usually with their mentors. Mentors were the oldest of the group, femmes that had already graduated. They were ready to dance by themselves and select their own clients. After a joor of their management classes, the youngest femmes were given a half-joor to study or do the assigned work for their upcoming classes. Afternoon classes were the core classes - history, mathematics, the sciences, theology, calligraphy, and so forth. Afternoon courses were two full joors long, and the subjects were rotated every day," Nightshade said, her nasal plate crinkling involuntarily as she remembered the many, many hours of coursework involved in being a dancer.

"All of those topics?" Emirate asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes. There was biology for femmes that didn't like physics - fascinating, especially the second half of the vorn. We would have ambassadors from organic planets give lecture. Sometimes we had laboratories where we were allowed to examine specimens they brought. We had self-defense, basic computer skills, and shooting, though we weren't allowed visit the shooting range without heavy escort," Nightshade said nonchalantly, using a pronged instrument to recalibrate one of Emirate's gears. Emirate hummed quietly.

"It sounds nothing like the school I selected for my daughter," Emirate said thoughtfully. Nightshade blinked, surprised that he tolerated her enough to share the information with her.

"What kind of school was that?" she asked, genuinely curious. Her hands moved slower over the delicate electronics in his lower leg.

"A prepatory school somewhere in the Praxus nebula," he said shortly. She knew she wouldn't receive any more information from him. Then he continued, "the dancers that I have met don't seem to reflect that vigorous educational training." Her hands froze, and she fixed him with a steely glare. For a split second, Emirate felt his spark stutter.

"Our teachers made sure that we were capable of intelligent discussion off of the stage. A dancer does not only dance - she reflects on her creators, her school, and her clients and guests. A femme may be the most beautiful dancer in the group, but if she cannot hold her own in a discussion or entertain at a gathering, then she is worth nothing," Nightshade said, her voice growing harsh. Emirate looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected her to take offense at her statement.

"Did she bear this emblem?" Nightshade asked, pointing at the dancer's emblem positioned just underneath her Autobot insignia. He shook his head no.

"Then she was not a dancer. She was a doll with too much free time," Nightshade said crisply.

Emirate did not speak. He winced when her examination of his joints grew a little rough for his taste. He flicked her hand away irritably.

"How long were you at the dance academy?" he asked, hoping to take her mind off of his statement. Nightshade thought for a moment.

"Exactly one hundred vorns from the day I was upgraded into a youngling. I stayed for my youngling and most of my sub-adult stages," she said absently, "I would have been upgraded into my adult frame after ten vorns of strict dance-only studies, and then I would have become a mentor. Unfortunately, the war interfered." Emirate nodded, his optics trained on the ceiling.

"What happened after your afternoon lessons?" Emirate asked. Nightshade thought for a moment.

"Well, younger femmes were taught the history behind the silk they wear - they had to study for at least twenty vorns before they were allowed to even think of dancing. Afterwards, they were allowed to watch the elder femmes for a bit, and then they were escorted to their mandatory study groups. Just after the first moon passed overhead, in the beginning of the fifth joor, they were escorted to their berths. And it started all over again. If they graduated to the second level, their afternoon classes were narrowed down to more specific topics. I had to pick between physics and biology, and I went with biology. History was narrowed down to a specific time period - I went with the first Golden Era after Prima and Vector Sigma."

Emirate nodded, clearly interested in what she had to say.

"Secondary classes, while shorter, were much, much more difficult than the primary courses. We were still expected to learn the intricacies of running an estate and managing our servants, but our main focus was on dancing and becoming more knowledgeable," she said, shrugging slightly, "I did enjoy my afternoons. We danced for a joor and had the rest of the evening to do as we pleased. I mainly stayed in the library and finished my work. I graduated third in my class."

"Why third?" Emirate sounded slightly disgusted. He did not accept anything less than perfection.

"I failed my parenting class," Nightshade said sheepishly. Emirate smiled. He gave her a genuine smile.

"Parenting is something that you learn on your own. No one can tell you how to properly cater to your child," he said, and Nightshade wondered if she was dreaming. There was no way that Emirate could know the difficulties of parenting, especially a sparkling. Emirate seemed to sense what she was thinking. His features became cold and distant once more, and she knew that their brief moment of understanding had passed.

"Are you finished?" he asked. Nightshade shook her head.

"I've got to examine your electrical system," she said. He nodded, making himself more comfortable on the berth. For a few moments, Nightshade did not speak. Her curiosity overcame her, and she spoke up.

"Emirate?"

He grunted.

"What was your daughter's name?" Nightshade asked curiously.

"Is. Her name is Astoria," Emirate said sharply. He relented, memories of his young daughter surfacing. How they had played games and read holocubes. How life had been before the war had spread to the outer tendrils of the Omega asteroid belt.

"It's a pretty name. How old is she now?" Nightshade asked, attempting to make conversation.

"She is just about 320 vorns of age," Emirate said. Nightshade nodded, setting down her tools.

"You're finished here, Emirate," she said, addressing him directly. He nodded, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the berth. He stood up and turned his back on her. She did not hesitate, for she knew that if she did, she would quite possibly never get another chance. Nightshade silently stood up, un-subspacing her dagger and aiming carefully. She paused for a second before leaping forward. Time seemed to slow as she watched the dagger arc through the air.

The dagger slid through a large gap in the armor between his shoulders, cutting through the lines and wires underneath with ease, severing his main support structure. He didn't have a chance to react as his processor seized and shut down. He collapsed onto the floor face-first, eerily still. Nightshade knelt beside him, her skilled hands parting his armor and disabling every system that wasn't vital for his survival. Her blow hadn't been lethal, but it had been deadly. Without Ratchet, he would be dead within a half-joor. Nightshade repaired what she could, her hands trembling as the guilt began to seep into her spark.

She didn't regret stabbing him. He had kidnapped her and taken her sparkling, threatening to kill them both. She was only defending her child, herself, and her friend. She would have stabbed him a dozen times more if she had to. But the guilt welled up as she looked around the medical bay. She had harmed in a place of healing.

She wasn't fit to be a physician - what was Ratchet going to say? What was he going to do? Nightshade shuddered, the energon in her fuel tanks rising as she looked over at the motionless mech. He had a daughter. He had raised and loved and cared for a precious little sparkling. Emirate was still mostly a horrendous monster in her optic, but he had a child, too. That detail alone had saved his life. Nightshade couldn't take a femme's father from her, especially if they hadn't seen one another in so long. Nightshade had been separated from her creators for only fifty or sixty vorns, and it had nearly killed her. She would have probably died of grief if she had found out that her creators were killed.

Nightshade backpedaled away from Emirate's body, her body making a clang as she slammed up against the cabinet. Her optics were focused on the steadily growing pool of energon around Emirate. She had spared him. That had to count for something.

…right?

Her optics stung painfully as she wrapped her arms around her knees, her CPU whirling with the 'what if's' and 'could have's'. She ducked her head down into her arms, her shoulders shaking as she tried to repress the sobs rising in her body. She had failed and betrayed Ratchet - she was supposed to fix and protect. Not stab her patients in the back. Not kill when she could heal. Nightshade suddenly felt dizzy. She had been so focused on Emirate that she did not notice that the pain killers were starting to wear off, leaving a dull, throbbing pain that lanced up and down her abdomen. It intensified with every passing breem until she could barely see properly. Warnings went off in her vision as her computing center began to strain underneath the deluge of information from her pain receptors. She managed to block the pain receptors from her computing center, but she could not shut them down completely. Luckily for her, Nightshade remembered the codes that Red Alert had used to lessen the reception. Though she was only able to lessen the pain reception to about eighty five percent, it helped nonetheless, and she could now move without screaming in agony.

Nightshade managed to get to her feet and stagger over to one of the sinks before purging her fuel tanks.

* * *

And that's it for Chapter 48. I am working on 49, so the wait won't be as long next time. Hopefully. :)


	49. Rescue

Chapter 49

...hey, look! I'm alive. :)

I don't own Transformers, but if I did, I wouldn't be sitting at a keyboard at the moment, I'd be off telling Michael Bay what to do.

The concept of carrying belongs to Litahatchee from her story "Night Fire". :D :D :D

Well, WID is winding down. I hope the next chapter won't take as long as this one, but I've been second-, triple-, and quadruple-guessing myself on this one. I want the ending of this chapter to be just right.

* * *

Jazz approached the medical bay cautiously, glancing around the darkened hallways. It was eerily quiet on the ship. During the few hours he had been aboard, he had become accustomed to the soft groan of metal supports settling, the noises of electrical components humming, and the flickering of the lights. But now, the ship was completely silent, almost as though it had been holding its breath.

Something was happening somewhere, and Jazz did not like not knowing.

Nightshade had left him a highly coded message on a data chip sometime last night. She had left it on the edge of a crate in the storage room he had entered the ship through, and he had almost missed it. It only said to come to the medical bay at a certain hour, and the time had come. He briefly pondered if it was a trap, but there was a footnote at the bottom that contained information that only he and Nightshade knew.

He put his systems on high alert once more. Unnecessary systems shut down completely as his most potent scanners booted up, leaving him with a colorful medley of information before his optics. Temperature, air pressure, and electrical components were all highlighted and color-coded in his vision. A lesser mech wouldn't have been able to process the information. He was as silent as a ghost as he moved down the pitch-black hallway toward the blinding white doorway of the medical bay.

His spark leapt when he heard soft whimpering. It was Nightshade. Jazz instantly brought a powerful, arm mounted cannon out of subspace. His thoughts immediately went to the worst. Jazz had only seen little Streak once, but his own need to protect and nurture had materialized during those short minutes. If Emirate had so much as looked at Streak incorrectly, Jazz would slag him where he stood. He may have not been Streak's sire, but he had come to adore the little sparkling, especially since he and Prowl could not have one of their own.

He did a heat sensor sweep of the room first, crouching down as he did so. A smaller, less intense smear of reddish-purple was huddled in a corner. The lesser source of heat was Nightshade. He noted with a sinking spark that her temperature was almost fifty Kelvin below normal.

The brighter yellow-white mass on the ground was a large mech. Jazz paused. The only mech on board was Emirate. Disregarding his safety, he barged into the room, his weapon trained on the motionless mech. What he saw shocked him to his very core.

Energon had pooled around Emirate, congealing slightly in the cold, dry air of the medical bay. Nightshade had severed most of his wiring, disconnecting anything that she deemed unnecessary for his survival. He knelt beside Emirate, scanning the damage that Nightshade had inflicted upon him. Emirate was most certainly neutralized. Jazz winced and glanced up at the femme before standing and hurrying over to her side. He hen knelt beside her, and touched her shoulder. She didn't respond to any of his verbal or physical prompts.

Jazz wasn't a physician, but he knew that those were not good signs. He knew basic field dressing, and he knew the signs and symptoms of shock. He immediately pulled Nightshade into his arms, turning all of his heat exhaust to the vents in his chest. He almost swore when he felt how cold she was. How had she gotten in this condition? She had been properly fueled that morning, and she wasn't injured. Perhaps her processor had shut down parts of her programming to conserve heat. She whimpered quietly, clutching at the welds on her abdomen. Then he realized that the medication was wearing off.

"Jazz to Command Center," Jazz said, hoping that the ship's defenses had already been taken off line. He was surprised when his message went through. Emirate must have been linked to the ship, and with his temporary deactivation, the ship's defenses must have gone down as well. He didn't know, and he did not care. Prowl responded, his door wings twitching at the sound of his mate's voice. Nearly instantaneously, all chatter and movement in the command center stopped. It was eerily silent.

"Jazz. It is good to hear from you. Status?" Prowl asked, subtly motioning for someone to call Prime. Blaster silently sprinted out of the room.

"I'm doin' well, but I can't say the same for Nightshade," Jazz said quietly. Prowl heard a crash and whirled around. Ratchet had run headlong into Prime's chest and fallen to the floor in a dazed heap. Prime helped Ratchet up, and restrained him at the same time. He lifted Ratchet up off the ground by the arm when Prowl had repeated what Jazz had just told him. Ratchet had gone on a fearsome rampage when Nightshade had been taken from him, and now that his infant was involved, things could turn very deadly, very quickly. There were important humans about to visit the base, and Optimus did not want to explain to the Secretary of Defense why his people were nothing more than greasy, bloody smears on the bottom of Ratchet's foot.

"What is wrong with her?" Prowl asked sharply, his optics glittering angrily. Emirate had sworn not to touch either femme, at least not until the deadline. If Emirate had harmed her, or Primus forbid, little Streak, he would have the entire base screaming for his energon. Prowl would break his promise to Ratchet and tell every mech and femme, Cybertronian and human, of Emirate's acts of cowardice. So far, less than a dozen mechs knew of the sparkling, and they had been sworn to silence. If the news leaked out, there would be a mob after Emirate. Prowl's hands clenched into fists.

"She's gone into shock. The pain medication's wearin' off. She can't process the information right now. Her systems are starting to shut down under the strain. I'm doing what I can to keep her and Streak warm," Jazz said quickly, realizing that Ratchet had been listening. Ratchet began struggling in Prime's grasp, clawing at the large fingers wrapped around his upper arm. He swore loudly, damning Prime to every layer of Pit and giving him creative, albeit impossible, suggestions of what he was going to do with his scanner.

"Jazz, where is Emirate?" Prime asked calmly, ignoring Ratchet's threats. While Ratchet was a very skilled physician, Optimus highly doubted that he could get the scanner in the locations he had mentioned without some serious lubrication and a hack saw. Optimus shook Ratchet slightly, hoping to snap him to his senses, but it only inflamed the already temperamental mech. Ratchet began snarling loudly. Thankfully, Prime had restrained Ratchet by grabbing the arm that housed his formidable saw. Now all he had to worry about was the mech pulling a syringe from subspace and stabbing him in the arm.

"Nightshade neutralized him," Jazz said flatly, "even though I specifically ordered her to stay out of the way." Ratchet stopped struggling for a moment as he processed the information. Did Nightshade kill him? A bubble of morbid glee rose in him. He was so proud of his femme.

"He isn't dead, but he's pretty close to it. Of course, if you'd like me to, Prime, I could undo all of the welds and make it look like an accident - "

"No, Jazz. He will not die by your hand, nor by anyone else's. He will be brought to me. The Council and I will decide his fate," Optimus sighed, "Emirate will be brought back to base and repaired - no, not by you, Ratchet - by Red Alert. He won't be as biased as you or Moonracer. Will you be able to bring the femmes outside, or do you need an escort?" Ratchet scowled up at Optimus. His anger was starting to dissipate now that he knew his femme and sparkling were both safe. The ringing sound in his audio receptors went away, and the misty fog that had started to gather in his vision disappeared.

"Five minutes, Prime. Just me, him, and my saw," Ratchet asked desperately, giving Optimus his sweetest look - which, of course, did not work, for Ratchet didn't have a 'sweet' side to him. Period. Prime ignored him and set him down on the ground beside him. He gave Ratchet a stern glare, silently warning him not to move from that spot.

"On it. I've contacted Chromia. She's on her way now, but we need to get Nightshade back to the base as soon as possible," Jazz said. Nightshade had warmed up, but only by a few Kelvin. The femme needed to be placed under a heater at full blast for a few hours. She started shivering slightly, her support cables contracting to dislodge the condensation that had built up in her air conditioning vents.

"Very well. I'm sending the troops in," Optimus said, "and be careful - slaggit, get him back here!" Jazz jerked at Optimus's sudden roar.

"What happened?" Jazz asked, cradling Nightshade closer to him protectively.

"Ratchet's escaped and he's heading that way," Prime said, watching as Elita and her femmes followed, "and so is Elita. Jazz, make sure Emirate is kept out of her reach." Optimus gave up on trying to contact Elita. She had blocked him from the bond, leaving him a short text. It was better for her to ask for forgiveness than permission. Optimus sighed, and followed a moment later. Perhaps he would arrive in time to keep the femmes from annihilating the ship.

"Got it. Jazz out," Jazz said, shutting off the communicator. He picked Nightshade up, grunting slightly. She was surprisingly heavy for her slender size. Chromia met him in the hallway. She hovered over him nervously, which earned a small mote of amusement from Jazz. Chromia could hardly be called nurturing - her primary function was to kill, maim, and destroy. It was going to be very interesting to see her with a sparkling of her own.

"Chromia, please take her from me. I need to keep Ratchet and the rest of the base from tearing Emirate to bits," he said kindly, offering Chromia the femme. She nodded, ducking down to his level in order to take her from him. Jazz winced, rotating the arm he had wrenched while breaching the ship. Maia touched Nightshade's arm, ignoring the black glares she received from Chromia and Jazz.

"Dear Primus, she's freezing," Maia gasped, before hurrying over to a doorway. She pulled it open, muttering quietly as she went inside. Jazz kept a watchful scan on the femme. Chromia twitched nervously where she stood. In a fight, she would be much more useful than Jazz. No offense to the shorter mech, but she was the trained warrior. Maia came back out of the room, squeezing a thick pad in her arms. They heard several soft pops and stared in confusion as Maia shook the pad open. It was a portable heating blanket. Why Emirate had one, they did not know, but at the moment, they did not care.

"There, that should help," Maia said softly, standing on tip-toe to tuck the thick pads around Nightshade's body. She stood back and bowed her head respectfully. She was finished with her task and would wait for her orders silently. Chromia nodded as she felt the warmth radiate from the blanket. It wasn't much, but it would help keep her temperature stable.

"Thank you, Maia," Chromia said. Maia jerked back at the statement. She looked highly uncomfortable.

"Now, let's go. Ratchet's sure to be on a rampage," Chromia said, smiling as Nightshade's optics began to flicker back to their normal color. The femme was cold, but not as badly as before. Chromia made a note to have a few words with the femme regarding her irresponsibility and her health. That was, if Ratchet didn't blow her audios out first. Maia trotted after her Mistresses obediently. Jazz turned back to the medical bay.

"Maia?" Chromia asked.

"Yes, ma'am?" Maia asked, "do you require further supplies? We'll be coming up to another room in a few moments. I'm certain that I can acquire what you need from there."

"No, I don't need anything, but I am going to warn you. Ratchet is a kind mech, and he would never harm a female, but if he sees you near Nightshade or Streak, he will not hesitate to make you get out of his way," Chromia warned softly. Nightshade shivered again. Someone had said her name. She mumbled something quietly, shifting slightly in Chromia's arms.

"Are you coherent yet, you lump?" Chromia asked sternly. When Nightshade cracked her optics open, Chromia gave her a shaky smirk.

"Chromia? Where are we?" she asked weakly, "Why am I so cold?"

"We're leaving Emirate's ship," Chromia explained gently. The emotional stress and physical pain that she had gone through, coupled with the overwhelming need from Streak to finish his bond with Ratchet, was addling her processors. The femme was lucky to be able to remember anything within the past few cycles.

"Chromia? I'm cold. Why is it so cold?" she whispered, shivering. She took no note of the blanket wrapped around her. Her temperate was about twenty Kelvin beneath her normal range. It was still low, but much better than when Jazz had found her. Chromia sighed gently.

"I know, Nightshade. We'll be out in a few moments. Maia is showing us the exit," Chromia said. Maia hurried forwards to obey Chromia's underlying command. Maia turned the corner, coming face-to-chest with a very upset Ratchet. His optics gleamed bright blue, almost white around the edges. She instantly hissed at Maia.

"Maia, get behind me," she warned quietly, dropping to one knee so that she could place Nightshade on the ground. Ratchet growled quietly, stepping forward as the other two femmes retreated from him. Maia had her hands wrapped around Chromia's upper arm, watching fearfully. Ratchet knelt beside Nightshade and gathered her in his arms tenderly. He nuzzled her gently as he checked for physical damage. When he found none, he got to his feet, cradling her to his chest. Nightshade mumbled something quietly, and Ratchet shushed her.

Without bothering to look at or even speak to the other two femmes, he walked away, more focused on Nightshade than on anything else. Chromia slowly relaxed, but not before sending a short warning text to Elita and her platoon. She followed him at a safe distance, watching as the mech's anger slowly dwindled and died out. Ratchet focused on his mate. He could feel that Nightshade had brought up a complete block around Streak. He couldn't thank her enough for that small gesture. The little mech was in forced stasis, quiet and asleep so that his mother could take care of business. If she hadn't put up a complete block around Streak, he would be clamoring for them both. Ratchet would fritz, and he would most likely take it out on Emirate. At any other time, he would have had no qualms about letting his fists fly, but he wasn't going to risk having his mate and sparkling anywhere near the fight.

He walked out of the ship, the sun just starting to climb to its zenith in the cloudy sky. Red Alert hurried forward to scan Nightshade, but one nasty glare from Ratchet had him retreating to safety. Moonracer fared no better, though she did manage to get closer than Red Alert. He ignored Prime, Elita, and every other mech and femme as he walked back into the base.

He scanned Nightshade thoroughly. She needed painkillers and a spot of energon. But most of all, she needed rest and she needed him. He bypassed the medical bay. He had enough supplies in his subspace pockets to last her until she was awake and he had properly bonded with Streak. He would have Moonracer bring him supplies when he ran out.

For now, Nightshade and Streak needed him. The bond he shared with Nightshade was being strained due to Streak's arrival and his anxiety at not being able to bond with his sire, and it was hurting the three of them. If he didn't bond with his son soon...

Ratchet shuddered, pushing aside the thought. He couldn't think of the consequences.

He ran through his inventory quickly. With the supplies he had in subspace, he could tend to her needs in the privacy and security of their apartment. She was sure to wake up disoriented and confused, and the last place he wanted her to be was in the medical bay. It was sure to bring up painful memories for the three of them. He hefted Nightshade against his chest with one arm, quickly typing in his code before he dropped her.

Ratchet awkwardly climbed onto their berth, somehow managing to lie against the wall and cradle her to his chest at the same time. He used one hand to un-subspace a syringe and medication. As gently as possible, he injected her with the contents. He smiled when the painkillers took effect, and she relaxed against him.

After checking her welds, he scanned her internals. The patch on her fuel line had integrated with the rest of the line. He would have to look at that in a few weeks to make sure that it assimilated completely, but he would check in a few hours, and then every few days. Ratchet was not a mech to take risks with his patients, especially if that patient was his femme.

Ratchet kissed her forehead, content to wait until she woke up. He didn't have long to wait. Once her pain receptors had been dulled by the medication, her processor could reboot and process the information in gradual chunks. Her optics flickered white before powering up to blue. Nightshade blinked twice, pushing up on her arms slightly. When Ratchet's arms tightened around her, she looked up at him. She seemed to be very confused. She didn't speak for a long time as she looked around the apartment. Nightshade struggled to understand what was happening.

"Ratchet?" she breathed, raising her hand to touch his face plates. He drew her closer, his spark going out to hers when she started crying. She cried for a long time, occasionally reaching out with her spark to make sure that it really was him and that she was really safe. Ratchet did not say a word, preferring to use their bond to communicate. He enveloped her with his love, doing his best to push the fear and anxiety from her spark. She responded with every bit of love that she could. The intensity with which she responded surprised him, and he felt guilty - twice he had failed her, yet she still loved him? Nightshade clung to him, shaking as the reality of the past forty eight hours caught up with her.

For a few long minutes, her arms remained wrapped tightly around him. Her sobs eventually dwindled into the occasional sniffle. Ratchet kissed her again, rubbing her back plates soothingly. A winking light in his vision alerted him to a text message from Prime. He sent back a rather rude retort explaining why he wasn't going to take Nightshade to the medical bay, why he wasn't going to let her out of his sight, and why she wasn't going to give him her report on what happened in the ship. Prime did not respond. Perhaps he knew that if he continued to insist that he would have a mutiny on his hands. Moonracer sent him a text message asking for instructions with Chromia. He told her that she needed to be sent home with Ironhide. He then shut off the communication line.

Ratchet scanned Nightshade again. Her temperature was still low, but it was rapidly approaching a suitable range. Ratchet reached over and shut the heating vent off. She looked up at him. Their optics met for a few seconds.

"Do…do you want to talk about it?" Ratchet asked softly. She hesitated for a moment. His comforting presence never wavered, and she began to speak quietly.

"There isn't much to say, Ratchet. He…he took Streak from me, and-and that was when I re-realized th-that I would have t-to get us out of th-there," Nightshade said, her optics welling up once more. Flashbacks of the assault flashed through her processor. The silence as the blade arced through the air. The slight sizzling noise as it buried itself in his circuitry. The sickening gurgling as the energon pooled in his filters. Nightshade shuddered. He brushed her cheek with his thumb tenderly.

"I couldn't stop him, Ratchet, I just couldn't, I fought as hard as I could. I'm so sorry," she said, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders beginning to shake once more, "he drugged me, there was nothing I could do." Ratchet tightened his arms around her, his anger starting to flare back up. Emirate was a disgusting creature, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure that the fragger suffered for the rest of his very, very long life.

"Please don't be angry with me," she said quietly, misinterpreting Ratchet's anger.

"I'm not angry with you, love," Ratchet said, alarmed at her train of thought, "I'm angry with his cowardice. I know you would have killed him if he had tried to take Streak from you if you were awake."

Something he had said must have upset her. She began bawling in earnest. Ratchet immediately reached to her with his spark, comforting her. She ignored him.

"Love, what's the matter? Did he…did he touch you?"

She began crying even harder. He barely restrained the angry hiss - what had Emirate done to her? He reigned in his anger for her sake, but on the inside, he was already plotting ways to get Emirate off of the base and deep into the forest where no one would hear his screams for help.

"What did he do, Nightshade?" Ratchet asked calmly. His grip tightened marginally. He had killed Starscream for his attempted assault on Nightshade, and he would have no problem killing again if Emirate had forced an interface link with Nightshade. Nightshade shook her head.

"H-he didn't t-touch me or Chromia," she whispered, burying her face into Ratchet's chest. He rubbed her back and arms gently.

"What did he do?" he asked.

"It's what I did…"

"What is it, love? You've not done a thing wrong," Ratchet said, holding her close. He was proud of her for taking the initiative to get rid of Emirate.

"I stabbed him. I tried to kill him. In the medical bay," she said, burying her face into his chest when she felt his overwhelming pride. He shushed her softly, instantly understanding her anguish. He had been very strict with his rules on doing no harm. He winced when she began crying even harder.

"Nightshade, he threatened to kill our son. He threatened to make you one of his consorts. He threatened to force Chromia to bond with him. And you know he would have done it. You were merely defending yourself and our son. You saved Chromia from a horrible existence," Ratchet said as gently as his could. She continued crying, ignoring everything that he had said. Ratchet bit down a mote of impatience. Nightshade was very emotional, even for a femme. He counted slowly.

"You did what you had to, Nightshade. You spared his life when I would have gladly taken it. You're a better physician than I am," Ratchet said tenderly, hoping his words would calm her a bit. Instead, she began wailing even louder.

"I-I-I'm a mon-monster, I'm horrible, I don't deserve t-to be a physician l-like you!"

Ratchet kissed her again, waiting for her to calm down once more. She quieted down in just a few minutes. His words were starting to make sense to her. He never once let his impatience and irritation flow into their bond. Instead he only showed her his love and pride. She sniffled, wiping at the wet streaks on Ratchet's armor.

"S-sorry," she mumbled.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Nightshade. You did everything in your power to keep our son safe, and I couldn't ask for anything more," Ratchet said softly. Nightshade nodded, tentatively immersing herself in their bond. She expected to find disgust and disappointment in what she had done, but he had been completely honest with her. He had nothing but love and pride for her.

"You're not upset with me?" she asked. Ratchet shook his head.

"No, I'm not upset with you," he responded. Nightshade nodded, relief flooding her at his positive feedback. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Though their bond had been interrupted for a mere two days, it had felt like an eternity for them. They took their time in exploring their bond.

"Could…could I see Streak?" Ratchet asked quietly, his fingers drifting down to her chest plates. She nodded, allowing Ratchet to help her sit up. She straddled his legs, bracing herself on his chest with her hands. She took down the block around Streak. Almost instantly, Streak's processes came back on-line. He gave a disapproving whirr - he was well aware of what she had done. He had been minding his own business, playing a game by himself, and all of a sudden, he went off line. How rude! He tapped on the side of her carrying chamber, trying to get her attention. Nothing. Streak tried to access her spark, but there was no reaction from her. Something was in the way. He tried again and again, but he could not access her spark. He pouted and screwed up his face plates, getting ready to throw a mighty tantrum.

The bond suddenly flowed open. He immediately latched onto her spark, his tantrum forgotten. There was another presence there, reaching to him, but he did his best to hide from it. He recognized it faintly, but couldn't quite place it. That presence had been there when he had been put into his shell, but who was it? The warmth from the presence washed over him. His mother nudged him towards it.

Well, if his mother said it was okay…

Streak reached to the other presence. Was this father? He wriggled, clearly excited. There was no doubt in little Streak's processor or spark - this was his sire! He immediately picked up on their interrupted bond. Ratchet sighed happily as his son's presence began to integrate into his spark and processes. The pain in Ratchet's spark dissipated. His spark was complete now. Only a few short minutes later, Streak withdrew. He was finished bonding with his father, and now he wanted out of his mother's carrying chamber. He kicked out irritably. He was tired of the cramped (but comfortable) space in her chest.

"You might want to hold your hands out," Nightshade said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Ratchet, not understanding, held his hands palm up between them. She guided his hands higher, almost in the dead center of her chest plates.

"He might just be a flier when he grows up," she said dryly. Ratchet still did not understand. She opened her chest plates partway, wincing when Streak came flying out of her carrying chamber. He only fell a few inches, for Ratchet had moved quickly to catch the blue blur. Streak landed on his stomach. He began twittering wildly.

What were those red things wrapped around him? Streak tried to get up, but found that his hands kept slipping between the fingers wrapped around him. He gave an impatient squeak. Ratchet froze, unable to do more than stare at the tiny little mech cupped in his hands. Nightshade smiled as she helped Streak and turned him over. He clapped his hands happily when he saw his mother. Streak soon began to whimper quietly - it was cold and he didn't like being held so far away from a solid surface.

"Hold him to your chest, Ratchet. He's cold," Nightshade said. Ratchet shook his head, holding Streak back out to her. The sparkling squeaked in surprise at the sudden motion. He grasped the nearest thumb and slowly dragged himself up. Streak whirred unhappily as he peered over the edge of Ratchet's cupped hands. It was a long way down.

He glanced back up at his father. Whoa, this mech was _giant_ compared to momma. He was just reaching for Ratchet's face plates when his mother picked him up. Streak began squealing angrily. He was happy where he was, and began to wriggle in her hands. Her grip tightened when he nearly wriggled out of her grasp. Streak glanced down at the slender blue hands gripping him. He contemplated biting her, but he went still after a moment. He was very unhappy with his mother, and he began to pout quietly. Streak reached for his sire's spark, begging to be picked up and held. A small smile quirked the sides of Ratchet's lip components when he felt the silent plea.

Oh, yes. His son had most definitely taken after Nightshade.

"Put your hand out. Palm up," Nightshade said, allowing no space for argument. Ratchet obeyed. He watched as Nightshade set Streak into his hand, steadying the little mech by holding him underneath the arms. Streak glanced around, his little blue optics wide with wonder. He held his hands up to Ratchet. He wanted a solid, steady surface, and his poppa's chest would do wonderfully.

"Now put your other hand behind him. Support his upper body and shoulders. Just like that. Now hold him to your chest." Ratchet obeyed once more, but kept Streak a few inches away from his chest. He didn't want to squish his son. Nightshade pushed his hands towards his chest slowly. Streak chirped happily when Ratchet turned on the heating coils in his hands. It was so warm and toasty here!

Ratchet's spark swelled with happiness when Light Streak curled up against his chest plates. He kissed the top of his head, smiling when Streak responded with a soft gurgling noise. Nightshade leaned forward, still a bit nervous about seeing her sparkling being handled by anyone else. Ratchet kissed her as well, drawing back when Streak began patting his chest plates, trying to get his attention. Streak wanted to be held directly over his father's spark, so he reached upward. Streak warbled happily when Ratchet raised him up a little higher on his chest plates. Streak squeaked quietly, shuttering his optics as he immersed himself in his bond with his creators. Within moments, he was recharging soundly.

"You're safe, little one," Ratchet murmured quietly, more to himself than to anyone else, "it's over now."

* * *

ONE MORE CHAPTER.

gosh.


	50. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Epilogue Part I

Sorry it's taken forever to get this chapter up, so here y'all go. The second part of the epilogue will be up in a few days when I'm finished editing it.

In this story, the Council refers to 13 mechs that help Prime govern their society. They Prime help with making, passing, and enforcing laws (almost like the U.S. government system), but he has final say on everything that is brought to his attention.

Prime also has another group of 13 mechs and femmes called 'advisors' that offer varying points of view during trial - kind of like a jury, kind of like attorneys/lawyers. They'll try to sway him into a lighter or heavier sentence throughout the proceedings.

Thank you to **Litahatchee** for letting me borrow her concept of carrying from her story "**Night Fire**". She gets another giant thank you plus a two liter of Dr Pepper (I bought one two weeks ago, still haven't cracked it open, so it's still good) for wading through this chapter and pointing out my boo-boos. For her patience, she deserves a Nobel Peace Prize, for I am certain that she was ready to shoot me. XD

There is a **WARNING** for this chapter. Throughout this entire story, I've skimmed on some sensitive and mature topics, but this chapter goes in a little more in depth. This chapter contains brief mentions of rape and slavery. Nothing too detailed, but if you're easily triggered, then please do not read on.

Questions? Concerns? Constructive criticism? Please let me know and I'll do my best to fix my booboos in a timely manner.

Now, on to the story.

* * *

Sweeping white sandstone walls stretched on for what seemed to be an eternity, flanking the Autobots and humans within the spacious room. The ceiling vaulted nearly fifty feet above, designed to accommodate even the largest of mechs comfortably. Nightshade decided that the sheer size was enough to nearly overwhelm her as she looked around the room. Elegant and ornate works of art were hung along the walls at set intervals, reminding each and every Cybertronian within of his or her duties to their Prime and to Primus. The twelve tenets had been painstakingly carved by Sunstreaker. Very tall and narrow panes of glasswork depicting Cybertronian Creation allowed soft motes of light to filter into the room. She looked to her left.

The few humans that had been allowed in during the sentencing looked highly uncomfortable with being seated in the very first row. A few kindly 'bots had taken it upon themselves to help the humans onto the thick slab of concrete. It wouldn't do to have such honored and distinguished guests seated at their feet. President Smith sat in the very center, his sharp gaze directly on Optimus Prime. Nightshade had only seen the man, and she knew she would not like him. He was a shrewd man, interested only in furthering the country's physical and political power by using the Autobots as pawns in his little game of politics. She was glad that Optimus knew a thing or two about leadership.

Nightshade shivered slightly as the whispering in the expansive courtroom grew louder. Optimus shifted in his seat, sitting up even straighter than before as Emirate was led down the aisle.

The whispering grew louder and louder. Barricade and two other mechs led the prisoner to Prime's feet, where they promptly had him kneel down. Loud clicks echoed like gunfire as the chains were attached to a raised slab of concrete.

"The proceedings shall now begin. Do you have anything to say in your defense before we call the witnesses to the stand, Emirate?" Optimus Prime asked gravely, his voice making the very air around them reverberate. Emirate shook his head slowly. Nightshade watched him carefully, her spark wrenching at the condition he was in. Layers of dirt and grime had built up on him, turning his rich, cream-colored coat to an ugly brown mess. His vivid, emerald optics had dimmed to a sickly grey color. Fine stress cracks marred his finish. Jagged scars still criss-crossed his front and back. Red Alert had provided life saving medical treatment, but had refused to perform cosmetic work on him. Nightshade cast her gaze back down into her lap, her spark wrenching at the less-than-standard treatment. Though Emirate was a cruel slagger, Nightshade couldn't bring herself to wish harm upon him. She had complete faith that Primus would make him answer for his sins.

"No, sir," he responded quietly. Optimus nodded, shifting slightly in the massive seat that had been built especially for that occasion. The Thirteen members of the Council were seated to his left. Nightshade noticed that Ratchet looked highly uncomfortable with being put back into his position as Councilmech. She reached to him, giving his spark a gentle, reassuring brush. Another thirteen on Prime's right made up his advisors. For a moment, Nightshade wished she could offer Ironhide the same comfort, if only for a few seconds.

Her gaze settled on the next mech in line. Prowl had been sandwiched between Ironhide and Prime, and even though he was stoic, she could sense his unease. Nightshade offered them both a small smile, and neither mech responded. She knew better than to be offended or hurt - they were not allowed to respond to her. She turned her attention to the ground before Prime, but soon found that she could not focus on Emirate.

A very thick and heavy collar had been locked around his neck, and to this collar was attached a short chain, forcing his upper body into a very cramped bow of respect to Prime. A mech of Emirate's size and strength could have easily pulled the chain out of the concrete, but Nightshade suspected that the two sentinels posted on either side of Emirate kept him from doing so.

Optimus made a soft noise. The crowd went silent instantaneously.

"Chromia, please step forward," Optimus said, motioning the sitting femme to take her place before the group. Chromia slowly got to her feet, her optics trained on the ground. She had to adhere to a strict set of rules for formal proceedings, especially one headed by their Prime. Chromia waited until Optimus spoke again before looking back up.

"Chromia, do you testify against Emirate or in his favor?"

Chromia glanced up Ironhide. He gave her a slight, reassuring nod. Chromia began to speak, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Nightshade fidgeted in her seat, earning a low hiss of disapproval from her femme creator.

"I testify against Emirate," Chromia said quietly. Whispers raced through the crowd like wildfire. Nightshade craned her head slightly to get a good look at her friend. Chromia looked uncharacteristically anxious. Day Lily's petite white fingers dug into Nightshade's protoform, and the young femme stopped squirming. Nightshade could feel a tiny tendril of amusement escape Ratchet, but he shut the bond before she could respond.

"Please explain your decision," Optimus said, shifting in his seat again. The other mechs and femmes that had gathered in the atrium watched raptly, shooting disapproving glances at the whispering humans seated in the very front. They had been invited only to placate them for their lack of information about Emirate.

"Emirate threatened to harm us, sir."

Optimus nodded. Nightshade knew that Optimus had told her exactly how to answer his questions. Chromia and Nightshade were hiding their sparklings, as was tradition to help transition the new creators into life with a child. But they were also hiding the sparklings until their presence had been revealed to the entire human race. Perhaps, once the initial shock wore off, they would drop hints about being able to reproduce without the AllSpark. However, until then, the femmes were going to do everything to keep the knowledge of having such a weakness from the humans. Primus only knew what the president would do to get his hands on that type of information.

"He threatened to break my bond with Ironhide in order to uphold the contract my creators made with him," Chromia said, bowing her head.

"Was the contract broken before Emirate arrived?" Optimus asked, ignoring one of the Councilmember's text messages.

"No, sir," she whispered softly.

"You knew that he had every right to you," Optimus prompted gently. He hated their legal system so very much. Before the war, he had done his best to 'clean' up their laws, to provide everyone with an equal opportunity before their judges, but he had not been able to complete the task in time. He was not going to make that same mistake again.

"Yes, sir, but - " She fell silent when Ratchet shook his head at her subtly. If Prime asked a yes or no question, then the answer was either yes or no; if he wanted more information, he would ask, but other than that, it was not her place to speak again.

"Continue."

"Ironhide and I bonded just before the contract was presented, sir. I ran away with Ironhide when I found out that I was being given to Emirate," Chromia said quietly, fidgeting again, "we didn't say anything because our bond was so new. My creators would have resorted to drastic measures to insure that our bond was broken."

Chromia watched from lowered optic shutters as Leo leaned over and whispered something into Ratchet's audio receptor. He gave a curt nod, and relayed the message to Prime. Optimus nodded when he read the message. He held her gaze for a moment, silently warning her that the next question needed to be answered very carefully.

"Bonds cannot be broken without taking a life somewhere," he said slowly, "and Councilmech Leo would like to know when Emirate threatened to kill Ironhide or someone close to you."

Chromia faltered as she thought of a way to answer his question. She could not lie to her Prime.

"He...he threatened to harm Ironhide indirectly if I did not comply with his wishes," Chromia said carefully. Optimus glanced at the hulking black mech seated to his direct right.

"Ironhide?" Optimus prompted.

"He threatened ta take my life if ya didn' respond in those two days," Ironhide affirmed, giving Chromia's spark a reassuring brush.

"And what were Emirate's wishes?" Optimus asked. Chromia didn't know who he had directed the question to, so she spoke up.

"That I become his mate, sir. He said that he had a way to insure that our bond was broken," Chromia said hesitantly, and her voice grew stronger when Optimus did not rebuke her. "He said he would hurt us both."

"Emirate? Do you deny or affirm these accusations?" Optimus asked.

"I affirm them, sir. I admit that I threatened to harm Chromia and Ironhide in the most despicable and cowardly of ways," Emirate responded emotionlessly.

"I dismiss you, Chromia," Optimus said. The mechs on either side of him stared at him openly. Their line of questioning had only begun. Leo made to interrupt, but Ratchet silenced him with a steely glare. Leo dropped back into his seat quietly, knowing better than to argue with his senior.

"Very well, sir. Thank you, sir," Chromia said, dipping her head in a polite bow before turning around. Chromia walked back to the seat. With a silent glance from Chromia, Nightshade knew that it was her turn next. Chromia sat down beside her. The younger femme squeezed her hand gently. The femmes glanced back up at the raised platform. The mechs and femmes were discussing something quietly. When Ratchet jerked back and began to scowl, she knew that the topic had turned to her. Optimus raised one hand, stemming one of Ratchet's protests. The mech fell silent, though now Nightshade could feel him simmering through their bond.

Day Lily squeezed Nightshade's leg comfortingly, her bright green optics focused on the platform. If possible, Crosswise looked even more upset than Ratchet did at the moment. Thankfully, he was seated near the very end of the advisor's bench, and he could not speak too loudly. The simmering black mech settled into his seat, his golden optics boring directly into Nightshade's. Nightshade suddenly felt very small.

"Nightshade, please step forward," Optimus said. For a split second, she hesitated, but a gentle prompt from Ratchet helped her regain enough sense to do as Optimus said.. Nightshade slowly shuffled over to stand before Prime.

"Would you prefer to sit, Nightshade?" Optimus asked, sensing her discomfort. She shook her head.

"No, sir," she said quietly.

"Very well. We will begin with an explanation from you. Why did you attack an unarmed Neutral?" Optimus asked sternly. Nightshade was young, but not young enough to say that she didn't know the rules. She stammered quietly for a moment.

"I-I attacked him because he threatened us both, sir," Nightshade said cautiously, referring to herself and her sparkling. Ratchet wrapped his presence around her spark, soothing her gently. Optimus gave him an unreadable look, almost as though he knew what Ratchet was doing for his femme. Streak kicked out in her carrying chamber irritably. His mother had brought up a complete block around his little spark, hiding her changed spark from the other femmes in the room. If she hadn't done so, the other femmes that had birthed or cared for a sparkling would have been able to sense that she was sharing her spark with a child. It was difficult enough for Streak to adjust to life outside of Nightshade's carrying tank. The last thing he needed was something as drastic as being able to sense other femmes. At the moment, Streak could only feel his father, and while he enjoyed the aura of safety that he provided, Streak preferred his mother's encompassing, nurturing presence. He kicked out again, making her wince.

"Did he act upon his threat?" Optimus asked, his voice developing an edge.

"Not directly, sir," Nightshade whispered.

"Explain to us what happened."

"He pushed me to the ground. He then proceeded to accost Chromia. I didn't quite hear what he said to Chromia, but he threatened to hurt someone. When I stood up, I kicked his feet out from beneath him. I warned him to leave and to never come back again, sir," Nightshade mumbled quietly. Optimus nodded. There were several quiet whispers from the Council and Prime's cabinet.

"She shouldn't even be up here," Leo hissed into Ratchet's audio receptor. Ratchet nodded crisply, glaring over at Prime.

"She was defendin' herself," Ironhide rumbled out quietly, though not quietly enough for Prime not to hear. Optimus shot him an irritated glare.

"Just sayin'," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"This is a waste of time," an older femme grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. The mech to her side snorted and nodded his agreement. Prime pointedly ignored them both.

"It has come to my attention that Emirate has asked for your punishment to be added to his sentence," Optimus said, ignoring the Council and his advisors as he brought a datapad from subspace, "in his letter of apology."

Nightshade nodded, glancing over at Emirate warily. He had not moved since the beginning of the trial.

"Very well," Optimus said. Nightshade looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate, but he did not speak for a few long moments. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"Did you or did you not spare Emirate's life?" Optimus asked suddenly.

"Yes, sir," Nightshade said, biting on her lower lip.

"Very well. What would you have me do?"

Nightshade frowned slightly, slowly lessening her ironclad 'grip' on Ratchet's spark. He sagged in relief.

"Sir, I do not understand the question."

"In having spared his life, you showed restraint when any one of us would have gladly killed him," Optimus said dryly, motioning at the mechs on either side of him, "and as such, you are entitled to suggest what you think is an appropriate punishment." Nightshade's optics went wide. She began to stammer.

"I-I...I don't know what to say..."

The whispering in the atrium grew louder. She distinctly heard threats against Emirate's life. Nightshade fidgeted, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Take as long as you would like, Nightshade," Optimus said gently. Nightshade was bewildered. She reached to Ratchet for help, but he gently pushed her away. This was her choice, not his, and he was certain that she would abide by his wishes.

"I...I think he should be put in the brig," she said quietly.

"For how long?" Optimus asked. He almost sounded amused.

"For how long?" she repeated, her voice strangely high, "I don't know, sir. What was the original sentence?"

"To begin with? One thousand vorns of imprisonment plus another one thousand vorns of hard labor. Then he would have been put to death by firing squad," Optimus rumbled out quietly. Emirate's optics looked even more ashen than before. Nightshade balked.

"I think the two thousand vorns will suffice," she said faintly, subconsciously raising her hand to cover the hold where Streak was hidden. Though no one could see underneath his mask, Optimus smiled at the tender gesture.

"Is there anything else that you want, Nightshade? Anything at all?" Ratchet interrupted, flexing the fist that housed his formidable saw. Optimus glared at him.

"Do not speak out of turn again, Councilmech Ratchet," he snapped.

"I apologize, sir," Ratchet said humbly, bowing his head. He sent a glare over at Emirate.

"I...I think I would like for his ship to be scavenged for parts. What can't be reused should be melted down and used to build additions to the base. I want him stripped of his rank, too," Nightshade said, shrugging her shoulders, "and I want for Maia to be freed from her contract. I want for her to have psychiatric help, too, and I think that she should be integrated back into society as soon as possible...oh. Sorry."

"Is that all, Nightshade?" Optimus asked, a small smile quirking the side of his lip components upward at her rambling. She shook her head, feeling heat rise in her cheek plates.

"When he is released, I would like for him to have the chance to start over - " Nightshade began timidly. Ratchet's incredulousness flowed into their bond, and he made to interrupt her and interject his opinion. Ironhide had leapt to his feet, a nasty scowl on his face plates. Whispers raced around the courtroom like wildfire. Nightshade crossed her arms, feeling as though she had been slapped.

"Silence!" Optimus boomed out over the frenzied whispering in the atrium. His voice echoed powerfully through the stone building, and instant silence fell over the gathered crowd.

"I will respect your wishes, Nightshade, but I think an explanation is in order," Optimus said. Ratchet leveled a glare at Optimus, but Leo's hand tightening on his arm reminded him to bite down his remark.

"Well, I don't think it's fair," she said, shrugging her shoulders. Optimus raised one optic ridge at her.

"He's been punished, there shouldn't be any reason that he be punished afterward as well," Nightshade said softly, "and if I've forgiven him, then I think everyone else can try." Ratchet glared at her, demanding that she recant her statement and go along with Prime's original decision. She held her ground firmly, reminding him that it was her choice. They glared at one another heatedly.

"Sir, I must contest the sentence," Ratchet said frostily, "he tried to _kill _her! What of the other things he has done?"

"_Councilmech_," Optimus rumbled out, "I will not throw you out on grounds of emotional distress. Half of the mechs here have a mate of their own - I'm certain that we understand the duties that we must uphold. However, it is not your place to decide his fate! I asked Nightshade, not you. Now take your vocalizer off line, or your mate will testify by herself!"

The warning had the intended effect. Ratchet went silent immediately at the thought of Nightshade facing Prime, his Council, and his advisory on her own.

"I will abide by your wishes, Nightshade, but he will serve the original sentence in addition to what you asked of me. He will not be put to death, but you forget that he must be punished for what he has done to Chromia and to Maia - please do not interrupt me, Nightshade," Optimus said, holding his hands up at her sudden anger, "if there hadn't been other circumstances, and you had been the only one kidnapped, I would have allowed Emirate to serve just the two thousand vorns. We must still hear what Maia has to say." Optimus's voice grew sharp at the end of his sentence. The femme nodded and backed down.

"You may be seated, Nightshade."

Nightshade nodded slowly, her hand rising once more to cover Streak protectively as she sat down beside her mother. The little mech shifted again, pressing his face against the wall of her carrying chamber in a vain attempt to access her spark. Day Lily rested her hand upon Nightshade's. He glanced around the room. His optics alighted upon Maia.

"Maia, please step forward," he said, as gently as he possibly could. The cream colored femme fairly trembled as she stood up. Moonracer grasped her hand gently as she led Maia to the front. Moonracer remained by Maia's side, offering the femme her comforting presence.

"Maia, do you testify for or against Emirate?" he asked. The femme kept her optics trained on the ground as she whispered softly.

"I-I don't know, sir," she whispered. Optimus made a soft, thoughtful noise.

"Will someone speak in her stead?" Optimus asked, glancing directly at Chromia. Chromia rose at Optimus's unspoken plea.

"I will speak in her stead," Chromia said softly. Maia wrung her hands together nervously, giving her a fear filled look. Maia didn't understand what was happening. All she asked for upon her release was to serve Chromia and Ironhide, but so far, no one had commented on her request. What was to happen to her now?

"Very well, Chromia. Do you testify against or for Emirate?" Optimus asked, turning to Chromia. Chromia avoided looking at Maia. She knew that the femme was obviously unable to make a decision on her own. She had never had any type of freedom before. The prospect of possibly increasing her old Master's time in prison was frightening to her.

"I testify against him," Chromia said quietly. Maia's shoulders sagged in relief. If Emirate was imprisoned, would she be allowed to serve Chromia?

"On what accusations, Chromia?" Optimus asked.

"On the grounds of physical, verbal, and mental abuse," Chromia said softly, glaring over at Emirate. The mech didn't move. It was as though he had trained all noise out.

"Please elaborate," Optimus said, his voice as heavy as his spark. Maia had not told Moonracer much of what had been done to her while imprisoned on the ship, so Optimus and Ratchet knew next to nothing about her.

"Maia?" Chromia prompted gently. It would be best if the words came from the femme herself. Maia gave her Mistress a glance, pleading for strength. Chromia squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Please tell Optimus what Emirate has done to you," Chromia said softly. Maia nodded at the order from her Mistress.

"Sir," Maia said, addressing Optimus, "what is it that you would like to know?"

"How old are you?"

"I am five hundred and forty vorns of age, sir," Maia said softly.

"And how long have you been bound to Emirate in service?" Optimus asked.

"Since the day I came of age, sir."

"Are you bound by contract?"

"Yes, sir. I was to serve on his ship from the day I matured into a femme."

"Do you have the document, Emirate?" Optimus asked, glancing over at the bound mech. Emirate shook his head.

"No, I do not, sir. It was lost during a skirmish," he said. Optimus nodded slowly.

"And what were the terms of service?" Optimus asked.

"There were none specified. All her creators asked was that I kept her from the Decepticons," Emirate said, "and I did so – "

He fell silent at Optimus's stony glare. There was quiet whispering from the Council. Maia fidgeted. The femme named Moonracer had done her physical examination, and upon seeing Maia's missing carrying chamber, her expression had turned cold. When Moonracer examined her spark casing, she turned downright furious. Maia didn't understand why. She hadn't done anything wrong…right?

"Maia? What did Emirate do to you?" Optimus asked. Maia fidgeted.

"He called me to his chambers almost every night," Maia said quietly, "and he would make me open my chest plates. I didn't understand what was happening, but it hurt for a little bit – "

She fell silent at the thunderous look on Optimus's face. The towering mech leapt to his feet, his optics flaring white in rage. Elita reached to him through their bond, soothing him. She was no less angry than he was, but there were humans present. Their ways and rites would be scrutinized, and the last thing that they needed was to be labeled as violent and backwards.

"Sir? Have I said something wrong?" Maia asked quietly, thinking that the rage was directed at her.

"How old were you?" Optimus growled out. Maia's grip on Chromia's hand tightened exponentially.

"For what, sir?" She could barely squeak the words out.

"The first time he took you into his chambers. _How old were you_?"

"It was after my spark separated from my mother's," Maia said, "it was the same day. I don't understand sir, have I done wrong?"

"No, Maia. You've done nothing wrong," Optimus said, stilling the rage in his spark. If Maia had still been a sub-adult, Optimus would not have hesitated to sever Emirate's head. Prime was a compassionate mech, but when an innocent was involved, he would gladly lay aside the mantle of peace to bring justice to the wronged. He sat back down slowly, his optics narrowed to slits as he glared at Emirate. He couldn't put Emirate to death.

Yet.

"Maia, was that the only thing he had you do?" Optimus asked gently. Maia shook her head.

"He made me clean, and care for the sparkling – "

"_What sparkling_?" he asked sharply, his hand starting to twitch slightly. No one had mentioned a sparkling to him. The involvement of yet another sparkling was making this a very complicated case. How could Nightshade think to spare his life after all that he had done? He cursed the femme's name momentarily. He soon realized that she showed wisdom beyond her years. Death would be too easy, too merciful. He would have to suffer before he was allowed death's embrace.

"The one he sired," Maia said, looking up at him in slight confusion.

"Where is it?" Optimus asked.

"I do not know for sure, sir. He left her with a family in the…Praxus nebula once the Decepticons began to target his ship for dilithium and dark matter. I had been aboard the ship for only a few orns when Astoria was left behind," Maia said quietly, shrugging her shoulders. She cast her gaze back down.

"Did he sire it by you?" Optimus asked.

"No, sir. It was by another femme. I never knew her name."

"Where is she?"

"She is with the sparkling, sir."

"Very well," Optimus said, relaxing slightly. The Praxus nebula had held nothing of value to the Decepticons except an old decrepit trading post, and that was where the Neutrals and surviving femmes had taken refuge. It had been relatively safe. If anything, survivors would arrive within the next two or three hundred vorns.

"I ran the ship while he was away," Maia said quietly, "he locked me in my quarters when he had guests on board the ship."

Optimus nodded. He was still quite angry, but he was beginning to reign it in. Emirate would pay dearly for what he had done to her. The matter of Maia's service to Emirate was a very grey area. Since neither one could provide the document, they would never know what the exact terms of the contract were. For all Optimus knew, Maia's creators had sold her as a consort, and if that had been the case, he could not punish Emirate with anything more than a slap on the wrist. He would have to go after her creators, but even then, all he could do was chastise them. In their society, sparklings were seen as property belonging to their creators. Prostitution and slavery were legal, deemed necessary by the previous Prime's council. Optimus nearly ground his dentas together at the thought of Emirate going unpunished. All he could ask was if he had tended to her basic needs – energy, shelter, and medical attention.

"Did he provide you with shelter?" Optimus asked. Maia nodded.

"I was given an entire wing of the ship to maintain as my home," Maia said softly.

"Did he provide energon for you?" Optimus asked. Maia nodded once more.

"He allowed me to access the energon taps freely."

"Did he provide medical attention whenever you needed it?"

"I have never been ill or injured, sir, and any minor scratches in my paint were repaired by my personal service drone," Maia responded, "I have been well maintained."

"Did he ever strike you?" Optimus asked, grasping for the last chance he had to incriminate Emirate.

"Yes, he did, sir," Maia responded, rubbing her arm absently. Optimus began to think quickly. It was frowned upon, but it was legal for a master to physically punish his or her servants and slaves, as long as it was merited. That, all in itself, was another matter all on its own, but it was all that Optimus had.

"Did you ever beat her, Emirate?" Optimus asked sharply, glaring at the mech. Emirate held his gaze defiantly for a moment before slowly nodding.

"How severely?" Optimus asked, his voice growing more dangerous. Emirate thought for a moment.

"Moderately. I never caused her any permanent physical damage," Emirate responded.

"I have nothing else to say," Optimus said, effectively ending the conversation, "does the Council have any questions?" No one spoke up.

"You may take your seat, Maia," Optimus said gently, inclining his head slightly at the femmes standing just behind Maia. Moonracer guided her back to her seat. Chromia returned to her seat beside Nightshade.

"We shall break for one half-joor to select a suitable course of action," Optimus said, rising from his seat. Ratchet and the other members followed in his footsteps. Nightshade trembled slightly as she clutched Chromia's hand. What was going to happen now? The punishment for attacking an unarmed Neutral was severe - one hundred stellar cycles or more depending on the severity of the attack. Though she had only knocked him down, it was still considered assault, and she would probably be sentenced for ten or fifteen stellar cycles. But what about her mate? What would happen to him? Would he be allowed to visit her? And what about Streak? Would Optimus take him from her while she was imprisoned? Chromia took her hand and squeezed it gently when Nightshade's intakes began to work feverishly.

And dear Primus, what of Maia? How were they going to help the femme understand what had been done to her? How would they integrate her back into society? The femme had been forced into his berth mere hours after maturing into an adult, and she didn't even know what had been happening to her body. Maia understood that femmes were able to conceive, and she knew that the ability had been taken from her when she was very young. She also knew that she could use the chamber in her chest to carry a little one.

However, she didn't know what interfacing was. What kind of exquisite pleasure she _should _have experienced her first time with a mech. She would never know the joys of carrying a spark and of rearing a sparkling of her own. Perhaps she would never even know what it was like to be a normal femme. Emirate had damaged her, physically and mentally.

* * *

Once in the privacy of an adjoining room, Optimus turned to the gathered mechs and femmes. Ratchet looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from anger. The mechs seated on either side of him subtly scoot their chairs away from him, leaving a sizable gap between them. The seething medic took no notice.

"Have you something to say, Councilmech Ratchet?" Optimus asked quietly.

"Damn straight I do, Optimus! I want the full sentence for him," Ratchet said through grit dentas, "I say we should put him to death tomorrow morning! What he's done is unforgivable, Optimus, you know that! He tried to break _two _bonds. What of the _other _things he's done, Optimus? I want retribution for what he's done against me and for what he's done against my femme. I also speak for Maia, and the disgusting things he did to her." His voice dropped into a growl. Several mechs murmured their agreement, Ironhide included.

"I vote in favor for the death sentence," Ironhide growled out. Optimus sighed in frustration as they began to argue amongst themselves.

"Silence!" Optimus commanded, "I will not put Emirate to death. Nightshade has begged me not to kill him. I will not take his life." Ratchet fixated him with an unreadable look.

"She never discussed that with me," he said bitterly.

"Because she knew how you would react, Ratchet. The last thing she needs right now is more stress," Optimus responded flatly, narrowing his optics at Ratchet meaningfully. Ratchet immediately went silent, but he continued to simmer quietly. Optimus pinched the bridge of his nasal plate as he shuttered his optics. Once he had gathered his thoughts, he began to speak.

"First, we must discuss the contract that Emirate had with Chromia's creators," Optimus said. He glanced around the room, leaning back in his chair.

"I believe that it would be in everyone's best interests if it was considered null and void on accounts of Chromia having already been bonded," Optimus said. There were soft murmurs of agreement from around the table. Optimus nodded, and made a note of the decision on a thick datapad.

"Does anyone contest that?" There was silence. "Very well. Chromia is released from her obligation to Emirate," Optimus said, scribbling a note to reexamine bonding ceremony protocol in the margin of his datapad.

"Now, I understand that this is a sensitive topic, but we must discuss Nightshade's punishment - " He was drowned out immediately by twenty six protesting mechs and femmes.

"Silence!" Optimus commanded again, rubbing his cranial unit, "I will not tolerate any type of attack on a Neutral. One hundred stellar cycles is the normal sentence. I know that asking this is pointless, but does anyone contest that sentence?" Twenty six voices immediately began clamoring once again.

"She can't be locked away for that long!" Ironhide growled out, slamming one massive fist against the table. Leo steadied his energon cube, glaring over at Ironhide. Leo wiped up the mess and turned back to Prime.

"She was fully justified in her every action," Leo responded haughtily, "and it says on page sixty three thousand, four hundred and ninety six, that 'in the event of a life threatening situation, a mech or femme has the right to defend him or herself, those who cannot defend themselves, and – '"

"You should be giving her a medal, Optimus," Elita said loudly, interrupting Leo as she crossed her arms over her chest plates and smirked at the muttered agreements. Optimus sighed at the stinging disapproval emanating from Elita's half of their bond.

"She will be punished. I must uphold our laws," Optimus said carefully.

"Then what do you suggest?" Elita asked acidly, crossing her arms angrily.

"She will be restricted to her quarters for the next orn, or until she is well enough to work, and after that, she will have to do her standard shifts plus one half joor in the nursery for five orns," Optimus threw out. Ratchet smirked suddenly. This wasn't punishment for Nightshade. She would be ecstatic to work extra hours in the nursery.

"Does anyone contest _that _sentence?" Optimus asked dryly.

"Perhaps an escort," Elita said, a wicked grin flitting across her face plates, "you know, in case she tries to sneak away from her work." Optimus rolled his optics up to the sky. Primus only knew what would happen if he had someone shadow Nightshade for the six orns.

"And who, pray tell, do _you _suggest that we assign to follow Nightshade around?" Optimus asked, his voice even drier than before. He knew what Elita was about to say.

"As Femme Commander, I will subject myself to keeping one of my femmes in line," Elita said, managing to make it sound like a chore. A muffled snort erupted from Ironhide's vocalizers. Chromia would have kittens if Elita was given six orns off to keep Nightshade 'in line'.

"That is unnecessary, I'll follow her around," Ratchet said, leering over at Elita, "I'll keep my mate out of trouble." Optimus choked and spluttered in indignation.

"Ratchet!" he said, "this is getting ridiculous. Nightshade is restricted to her apartment and places of work for six orns. She will not require an escort." Ratchet grumbled quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is this satisfactory?" Grudgingly, the twenty six members nodded.

"Now…about Maia," Optimus said, folding his hands across his lap. Ratchet sighed, opening their copy of the Book of Codes. Optimus watched as Ratchet flipped through the pages aimlessly. He hoped for a moment that Ratchet could find a loop-hole in their laws, that he could find a way to punish Emirate for what he did to Maia, but he knew that it was hopeless. He knew the entire thing by spark, and with shame, realized that he too had fault. He had not amended laws regarding the rights of consorts and slaves, and as such, he was just as guilty as those who had written the laws.

"I demand that he be put to death!" Ironhide bellowed, standing up suddenly, "I don't care if he's protected by yer laws, Prime! What he did ain't right!" The chair went flying and hit the ground with a thud. Optimus sighed and rubbed his face plates again. It was going to be a long while before he could come up with a satisfactory punishment for Emirate.

"Ironhide, we're going to talk about Maia. She is released from her contract, and she will be receiving psychological evaluation," Optimus said, "I do believe that she'll feel more comfortable with other femmes."

Elita nodded.

"Moonracer and I will take good care of her, Optimus," Elita said quietly. It wouldn't be the first time that she and Moonracer had cared for a femme who had been violated. Elita wished she could say that Maia would recover, but after Emirate accessing her spark at his will, she didn't think that Maia ever would. The only thing Elita could be glad for was that Emirate had not bonded with her. At least she was safe from him in that aspect.

Ratchet nodded.

"I've already begun to talk to her, Optimus. She doesn't seem to have much of a problem socializing with mechs or femmes, but it's unnerving how detached she has become from the world around her," Ratchet said quietly, "he's done more than take advantage of her. He's destroyed any type of free will that she may have ever had. I don't know if we'll be able to give that back to her."

Optimus nodded, sighing heavily.

"The most I can punish him for is beating her," he said softly, "and even then, he could contest that. I only wish that I would have realized sooner what the consequences of my procrastination could be." Elita brushed up against his spark reassuringly.

"We'll help her through this, Optimus," Elita said, "but for now, we must do what we can to prevent this from ever happening again."

Optimus nodded, his spark still torn at being unable to do anything against Emirate for what he had done to Maia.

"Very well. For Emirate's punishment –_ yes, _Ironhide, I know you want him to be put to death, but Nightshade has already asked me not to kill him."

Ironhide grumbled, glaring over at Ratchet as though he was the one who had pled for Emirate's life. Ratchet returned the steely glare.

"For his actions against Chromia and Nightshade, I propose the following: we must finish building the city, and he will do labor alongside his drones. After that period of time, however long it may be, he will be sentenced to ten vorns of solitary confinement in the brig. This will be followed by one thousand vorns of imprisonment with brief periods to socialize. He will be given limited rights. After he is finished, we will return him to hard labor for as long as I see fit. He will be free to live his life after that, so long as he behaves," Optimus said, thinking carefully. If he confined Emirate to solitary for too long, he would eventually go mad.

"For what he has done to Maia, all I can punish him with is a reprimand and ten vorns in prison."

Ironhide began to snarl.

"Ironhide, please don't make this any more difficult than it already is," Prime said wearily, "I know that you want vengeance, Ironhide, but his death will not solve a thing. We will have one less mouth to provide for, yes, but what of Maia? She'll never be able to face the mech that took everything she had if we do kill him."

Ironhide seemed to relax at Optimus's words.

"It's a shame we can't use him as a trainin' drone," Ironhide muttered, and Optimus knew that it was Ironhide's way of conceding. Optimus gave him a thankful smile, and they began to discuss the amendments to their Book of Codes.

* * *

The next four hours dragged by slowly for Nightshade. Sometime during the wait, she, Day Lily, and Chromia had retreated from the well-wishers and the curious 'bots. They took up post in one of the other rooms, sipping their cubes of energon quietly. Chromia was sitting against the wall with both feet on a nearby chair. Nightshade was sitting beside her, resting her head against her friend's shoulder. Chromia didn't complain at the physical contact, even though she was slightly uncomfortable with it. Day Lily sat on Nightshade's other side, her head resting against the wall behind her as well.

Nightshade took down the block around Streak, waking him in the process. He was much more irritable than usual. He kicked out hard, making Nightshade gasp in pain. Streak began squirming restlessly. He fluttered in and out of their bond, searching for Ratchet. When he found that he couldn't find his sire, he gave a loud, plaintive wail, pouring his distress into his bond with Nightshade. He grew more and more frantic as the seconds passed by.

The femmes watched as Nightshade began to fret.

"What's the matter, sweetspark?" Day Lily asked, touching Nightshade's shoulder. The femme winced as she placed a hand over her carrying chamber.

"Streak's being insufferable," Nightshade hissed out, wincing as Streak began to take his frustration out on the walls of her carrying chamber. She opened her link to Ratchet, pleading that he do something - _anything _- to help calm Streak. Ratchet responded immediately, firmly, but gently wrapping his presence around the panicking sparkling. Once Streak realized that he wasn't being abandoned by his sire, he settled down almost instantly.

Nightshade sighed, shuttering her optics and leaning back in the seat. She could feel his little hands mapping out the silicone-lined walls. It was a gesture he went through before and after every recharge cycle without fail. Ever since Emirate had wrestled Streak out of her hold, he could not recharge without making sure that he was being carried by his mother. Once he was satisfied, he wriggled around until he was facing her spark and pressed his face against the wall. He stuck his thumb into his mouth, and within moments, was deep in recharge.

Day Lily and Chromia shared a relieved glance when Nightshade finally relaxed.

"Has he gone to sleep?" Chromia asked. Nightshade nodded.

"He's still a bit panicky when either one of us don't respond to him," Nightshade said, carefully and slowly sitting up. Streak kicked out gently at the shift in gravity, but didn't wake up.

"Poor guy," Chromia said quietly, "is he still nervous around mechs?"

Day Lily made a soft humming noise, stroking Nightshade's shoulder comfortingly. Though Nightshade was fully grown, her femme creator could comfort her without speaking a word. Nightshade brought her legs up onto the seat, resting her head against her mother's shoulder. Day Lily wrapped her arms around Nightshade, shushing her quietly. Nightshade shuttered her optics, a small smile drifting across her face plates at the familiar sound of her mother's fuel pump.

"We haven't tried to introduce him to anyone else yet, not even to my creators. He fritzed yesterday when I set him down in his crib. I only turned away for a few moments so that I could get a cube of energon," Nightshade said quietly, "Ratchet had to hold him to stop the crying." She sighed. "Maybe he'll be more at ease tonight." Day Lily nodded.

"He will be most comfortable if you introduce him to the femmes he is already familiar with," Day Lily said absently.

Nightshade nodded. She and Ratchet were hosting a small get-together for their closest friends tonight. They were going to attempt to introduce Streak to their closest companions. If things went well tonight, they would properly present Streak sometime in the next few months.

"He had to take the rest of the day off. Streak started wailing the moment he couldn't see the both of us," Nightshade whispered, "I don't know what I'm doing half the time, but I'm glad that you don't mind me messaging for help at all hours of the day, momma." Day Lily smiled, stroking Nightshade's back gently. Ratchet may have known what to do with a sparkling in the medical bay, but as a father, he was nearly useless. He had no previous experience with sparklings except for his younger brother, and even then, it had been a tragically brief amount of time. Nightshade was no exception, either. Ember and Evergreen were younglings. Nothing could quite prepare either one of them for the arrival of a completely defenseless sparkling.

"It'll be okay, sweetspark," Day Lily murmured soothingly, "just tell me what's the matter and we'll sort through it, alright?" Nightshade nodded slowly. The door opened suddenly. Chromia scowled, ready to tell the intruder off, but smirked when she saw her seething Femme Commander.

"What did you do?" Chromia asked expectantly, patting the seat beside her.

"I said a few things that I shouldn't have said. Optimus kicked me out until I 'cooled' down. Hello, Day Lily," she grumbled quietly, "how are you and Streak doing, Nightshade?"

"Streak's still a bit nervous when Ratchet isn't around," Nightshade said, "I have to reassure him constantly, and Primus forbid if Ratchet doesn't respond to Streak when he wants attention."

"Not that the little one isn't already rusted through from all of the attention," Day Lily murmured softly, ignoring her daughter's swift glare. Elita and Chromia both chuckled. Nightshade was already a pampered femme, but with a sparkling? She and the little one would both be fussed over by the other femmes and some of the mechs until they both fell apart at the seams.

"He'll be fine soon, Nightshade. We _all_ need a little bit of time to adjust," Elita said quietly.

"How are you and Optimus? You two are still visiting tonight, right?" Nightshade asked, sitting up so that she could speak to Elita directly. Streak mewled quietly in his sleep, rubbing his nasal plate against the thick silicone pad underneath him.

"Yes, we are," Elita said, smiling when Nightshade once again covered her carrying chamber with her hand.

"Good," Nightshade said, smiling. Elita stiffened in her seat, drawing the femmes' attention. Her optics brightened for an astrosecond as she read a text message. The other femmes shared worried glances.

"We've got to go. They've all come to an agreement on sentences," Elita said sadly, watching as Nightshade's demeanor went from content to anxious, "don't worry about a thing, Nightshade. I can't say any more, but there's nothing for you to worry about."

Nightshade nodded miserably, and together, the four femmes made their way back to the atrium.

* * *

It took only a few minutes for the 'bots to take their seats. The air fairly buzzed from the tension. Once Optimus sat down in his seat, the room went deadly silent.

"Nightshade, come forward," Optimus said. Nightshade obeyed quietly. When she was standing before him, Optimus spoke.

"Nightshade, your original sentence was going to be a total of ten full stellar cycles in the brig with limited visitation from Ratchet to uphold his duties as your bond-mate. Since Emirate has asked for your punishment to be added to his, I will do so," Optimus said quietly, "and since we _can__not _tolerate any type of attack on a Neutral, I must override your wishes and punish Nightshade. It is only fair that I do so. No one is above the law here, Nightshade."

Nightshade felt her fuel tank disappear, and she suddenly felt very cold. Ratchet reached to her gently. She latched onto his presence, genuinely frightened. Was she really to be locked away for two hundred and sixty orns? He soothed her again, silently promising her that he would rather die than to see her locked away for that long.

"Nightshade, you will receive a verbal warning after the sentencing. You are restricted to your quarters for one orn starting tomorrow morning at the end of the first joor. Afterward, you will be doing regular shifts plus an extra half joor each day in the nursery for five orns. Since dancer is your primary function, I will give you the choice to perform at the social gathering this Friday. You are also expected to make a public apology for your actions," Optimus said, "do you understand the terms of your punishment?"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. The verdict stung a little, but she knew it was much lighter because of Emirate's wishes and of the sparkling she carried. Had Optimus not known about Streak, she would have bet credits that her term would have been at least five stellar cycles in the brig.

"Emirate, once we resume construction on Autobot City, you and your drones will be carrying out hard labor from sun-up to sun-down of every day. You will be allowed one day off once every ten orns until the city is completed. After that, you will be incarcerated for eight thousand vorns plus ten stellar cycles starting the day after the city is officially opened. After both terms have been fulfilled, you will submit to psychiatric evaluation once every four orns. If you show _any _type of relapse into your old ways, then you'll be put back into the brig for as long as I see fit. Do you understand?" Optimus asked, glancing down at the once-proud mech. Emirate nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Since it will be long term imprisonment, you may work to earn credits. I won't have you lying about all day. What do you specialize in?" Optimus asked. Surprisingly, Ratchet had been the one to suggest that Emirate have a way to earn credits. It wouldn't do to have him locked away for so long and release him without a credit to his name.

"I was lord of my estate, and I dabbled in trade," Emirate responded.

"Is that all?" Emirate nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, we shall convene in three days' time and we shall select a suitable profession for you. Are there any complaints or comments that must be addressed now? There will be no appeals for this hearing," Optimus warned quietly. Silence reigned over the room.

"Very well. This hearing is concluded. Prowl, Barricade - please escort Emirate to his cell. Everyone else, you are dismissed," Optimus said, standing up. Ratchet didn't wait for Optimus to dismiss the council. He immediately leapt to his feet and hurried over to Nightshade. She and Streak both wanted him close by, and he wasn't about to deny them their sparks' wishes.

* * *

This is the end of the first half of the epilogue. :3


	51. The End of a Long Road

Sorry it's taken so long to update, but IRL is being more demanding than usual. Without further ado, let the epilogue begin.

I don't own anything but my many OCs.

**Litahatchee **is letting me borrow her idea of carrying from her story "Night Fire".

* * *

The apartment was well lit and well decorated. The seats had been pushed into a semi circle in the large room, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere for Streak's presentation. Nightshade greeted each one of her guests with a tight embrace. Optimus had to bend over to hug Nightshade properly, and she could not help but to giggle quietly.

"We must look silly, Optimus," she said, patting his forearm. He only looked a little sheepish as he managed to squeeze himself into one of the seats. Elita perched on the arm of the seat, swatting his errant hand away. Ironhide and Chromia followed after them, taking up the seats next to them. Ironhide made himself right at home on the seat, his arms and legs sprawled out. Chromia gave him a disapproving look, prodding him in the hip. He shuffled over, making space for his mate. Day Lily and Crosswise were not far behind. Day Lily began talking the moment she entered the room.

"What a lovely little apartment, Nightshade. You've decorated it so beautifully," Day Lily said, kissing her daughter's cheek, "I'm certain that you and Ratchet will fill this apartment to the rafters with plenty of grandbabies for me to look after." Chromia may have imagined it, but it seemed that Ratchet had blanched at Day Lily's statement.

"Oh, don't be silly, Ratchet. I was kidding," Day Lily said, embracing him before taking a seat beside Chromia, "hello there, dear. How are you? Crosswise, stop loitering in the door way, I think there's someone behind you - Mirage! Dear! How are you?" Day Lily cut Chromia off in the middle of her response to go and place a kiss on Mirage's cheek. "You look wonderful - Moonracer's been taking good care of you," Day Lily continued, nodding in approval at the state of his shiny coat. Mirage knew better than to open his mouth to respond, so he merely nodded and gave her a gentle smile. Moonracer peered over his shoulder.

"Hello, Day Lily," she said warmly. That was her fist mistake.

"Hello, dear! When are you and Mirage having a sparkling? Are you two trying?" Day Lily asked innocently. Moonracer's face went blank as she struggled to respond.

"No sparklings for us," she said, shaking her head, "definitely no sparklings, we're making sure of that."

"That's a shame, dear, your daughters would be beautiful," Day Lily sighed, imagining a tiny little Moonracer running around with Streak, "but never mind my rambling. Chromia! You look well, how are you holding up? Is Ironhide looking after you?"

Nightshade had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Her mother always did get a little excited at social gatherings. Crosswise had wisely kept his vocalizer off line for the duration of Day Lily's questioning. Once the initial excitement wore down, she would be more tolerable.

"Your femme creator is scary," Chromia whispered seriously. Nightshade smirked.

"That's only the start of it," she responded. Then she recognized the small white and green femme standing just inside of the doorway. She looked shy and out of place. "Epsilon! I thought that you said you wouldn't be able to make it!"

"I was able to convince Beta to take over the nursery for me," she said softly, making her way to the seating area. Nightshade patted a cushion beside Day Lily, who was currently talking to Elita One about the state of affairs with the humans. Day Lily turned to greet the newcomer.

"You are too precious," Day Lily said, turning the Epsilon's face into the light with her hands, "what is your name, darling?"

"Epsilon, ma'am," she said, sounding a bit surprised.

"Ah, none of that silly 'ma'am' stuff. You have a beautiful name. Come, sit beside me and we'll chat," Day Lily said, scooting over on the cushion and patting it. Epsilon nodded timidly and sat down beside Day Lily. Her optics went wide when Day Lily began to talk. And talk. And talk a little bit more. Nightshade snorted quietly.

"Poor Epsilon," Crosswise mouthed at Nightshade. Nightshade nodded and grinned. A minute later, there was a knock on the door. She opened it, and in flounced Firestar. She looked quite pleased with herself. Wheeljack stumbled into the room a breem later, looking winded.

"Still can't catch her, can you?" Nightshade sighed, shaking her head. Wheeljack shook his head as he clutched at his intake fans. The femme was fast. She had promised him a sparkling once he could chase her down and beat her in a fair fight, but that wasn't going to happen, not for a long while. Prowl and Jazz followed a minute later. Prowl was shaking his head at Wheeljack's failed attempts to hunt down Firestar, and Jazz was making suggestions to catch her. They were greeted by Ratchet. He touched their shoulders in a brotherly gesture. He and Jazz had served together for many vorns, and though he'd known Prowl for a scant hundred vorns, they had become good friends in that short span of time. There was another soft knock at the door. Red Alert was admitted only a few moments later.

"Red," Ratchet said, by way of greeting. He looked a little lost without Inferno. The fire engine had declined to join them. He didn't know Nightshade or Ratchet very well, and his presence at Streak's presentation would be awkward and forced. He didn't want to ruin the atmosphere just because he was Red Alert's mate. Nightshade had begged him to reconsider, but Inferno would have none of it. All he asked for was a picture of the little one and a promise to meet him later.

"Ratchet," Red Alert responded, smiling, "I rerouted all of the security measure to Barricade, just like you suggested."

"Good mech," Ratchet said, clapping him on the shoulder, "now come on, Nightshade wants to show Streak off to everyone." Red Alert smiled. The little one had made so much progress since his birth. He had been a very frail little sparkling, barely able to power his own optics without assistance from Nightshade. Now the little one could not hold still - he was even trying to crawl. Sparklings usually didn't try to crawl until the end of their thirtieth orn, so to see the little one wriggling on his stomach was a pleasant surprise.

"Thank you for joining us," she said, smiling shyly at the femmes in the group, "it's an honor to have you here. We have invited you here tonight for a special reason." Chromia smiled at Elita when she fidgeted impatiently. Nightshade excused herself and retreated to the privacy of the nursery to remove Streak from her hold. The little mech was awake instantly. He chirped up at her curiously, his little fingers splaying across her chest plates. He wanted back into the warm, safe space.

"You are going to meet all of our friends," Nightshade said, tickling him in the abdomen with one finger. He squeaked happily at her loving attention. Ratchet peered into the nursery, kissing Streak's forehead as she drew closer. The sparkling babbled at the attention from his father, grabbing Ratchet's nasal plate before the mech could pull away. Streak patted Ratchet's cheek before releasing him. Ratchet led the way back into the living room. He smirked when Chromia and Elita impatiently tried to crane their necks to peer around him. Nightshade snickered quietly as she peered through the gap between his arm and his chest.

"Please allow us the honor of presenting to you our son, Light Streak," Ratchet said quietly, stepping to one side. Nightshade stepped forward, cradling Streak in her arms. The little mech gurgled quietly, clearly not noticing anyone but his mother.

Streak froze at the noise and peered around. There were lots of sparks like his mother's, and he wanted to play with them all. But there were also those large beings scattered around. Large beings that reminded him of the mean one that had taken him from his mother. He was slightly frightened, but he knew his poppa was nearby. Poppa wouldn't let anyone take him from his mother.

"Mothers first," Ratchet said teasingly, smiling at Day Lily. Day Lily approached slowly.

"Hello there, sweetie," Day Lily cooed, "my, what a handsome little sparkling you are!" Streak blinked up at her, waving his hand at her in an attempt to make physical contact with the pretty femme. Day Lily tenderly cradled his hand in her curled fingers.

"Yes, doesn't her spark feel familiar, Streak? That's my mother you're looking at," Nightshade said as Streak reached to her through their bond. He was a little confused, but he definitely liked Day Lily. Nightshade smiled when she felt Streak's approval. Perhaps he wasn't going to be so cantankerous with the other femmes.

"My dear, you may call me grandmother. Yes, I think I like the sound of that," Day Lily said dreamily, her optics wistful, "now, be a good mech, sweetie." Streak warbled as Day Lily disappeared from his line of sight. He reached after her. No…he liked her. He wanted her.

Nightshade shushed him gently.

"You've got plenty of femmes to meet," Nightshade said, "Elita? Chromia?" The femmes rose and approached slowly. Streak recognized Chromia and whirred at her. This femme had held him once long before. He couldn't remember anything but her spark. He touched her hand, shyly pulling away when she smiled down at him.

"This is Auntie Chromia," Nightshade said seriously, "she's held you before. So, of course you remember her. And this is your Auntie Elita. She's my boss, so be nice to her." Elita rolled her optics at Nightshade's statement, but leaned down to get a better look at Streak. Streak returned her curious stare before trilling happily. He liked this femme very much. She was very, very strong, but he could sense that she liked sparklings.

"I've said this before, Streak, but you are too cute to have Ratchet for a sire," Chromia crooned, making the little mech whistle happily. He didn't know what she was saying, but her voice was very pretty. Elita snickered quietly at Ratchet's glower.

"Hello, Light Streak. It's an honor and a pleasure to meet you, my dear," Elita said solemnly, bowing her head slightly at him. Streak's optics bugged out as his fuel tank began to rumble quietly. He whimpered, wriggling in discomfort. Nightshade immediately began patting his back.

"Shh, sweetie, mommy's here," she said, glancing over at Day Lily for help. Streak let out another whimper, and then suddenly, he went quiet. They stared at him. He scrunched his nasal plate up and wriggled his bottom. Then his tiny little engine backfired, startling the mechs and femmes in the room. He giggled at the startled expression on Elita's face. The strong femme was so funny looking!

"Streak, that was very rude," Nightshade said, waving her hand to clear the fumes. She looked a little embarrassed, and she spoke again, "I'm sorry, Elita. Had I known that he was going to pick this moment to clear his fuel tank, I would have waited." Elita waved the apology away dismissively. Little Streak couldn't help it, and he didn't know their social decorum.

Yet.

"Phew, that definitely is your son, Ratchet," Elita said, craning her head to avoid the smell. Ratchet puffed up proudly, ignoring Nightshade's mild glare.

"That's my little boy," Ratchet said, pouring his pride into their bond. Streak whistled and clapped his hands. That was fun!

"Epsilon? Moonracer?" Nightshade asked, ignoring the femmes' exaggerated gagging. Chromia merely shook her head and continued to stroke Streak's head. He purred happily, leaning into the loving touch and nuzzling Chromia's wrist. Epsilon and Moonracer stood up and joined the other femmes huddled around Streak.

"This is Moonracer. She helped deliver you," Nightshade said. Moonracer looked a little awkward as she reached out and touched Streak's arm. He dismissed her after indulging in a moment of her attention. He knew that the pretty aqua femme wasn't interested in sparklings, and instead of wasting his time trying to play with her, he knew he was better off seeking attention from the younger femme.

"This is Epsilon. She'll be helping me take care of you once you're upgraded into your youngling frame," Nightshade said. The green-and-white femme merely nodded, hesitantly touching his foot. He whistled shrilly in surprise and pulled his foot away. Nightshade bounced him in her arms gently.

"Oh, I'm sorry, little one. Did I hurt him?" Epsilon asked worriedly, her azure optics wide with concern.

"No, he was just surprised," Nightshade said. Epsilon nodded. Her optics widened when she felt the tug at her spark. She shifted uncomfortably. The tugging grew more pronounced. She pushed it away, and to her eternal surprise, Streak began to mewl, his face plates screwed up in anticipation of a mighty tantrum. On a whim, she reached back to him, and he settled down almost instantaneously.

"Does he reach to all of the femmes?" Epsilon asked, "it felt like something was pulling at my spark." Chromia nodded, smiling fondly down at the attention-seeking sparkling. He was more openly affectionate with femmes than any other sparkling that she had ever seen.

"He wants attention," she said after a moment of interacting with him through their weak connection. He lost interest quickly after that when he realized that there were other femmes to share his spark with.

"Not like he doesn't get enough of that," Nightshade muttered quietly. Ratchet laughed, breaking the silence in the room. Streak glanced around when he heard Ratchet's voice. He chirped. Where was poppa?

"Now, let's see if you're ready to meet our mechs," Nightshade said seriously, filling her bond with him with reassurance. Day Lily and Chromia remained firmly attached to Nightshade's side as the other femmes retreated back to their seats. Ratchet stood just behind Nightshade, reassuring Streak in the same manner that she was. Streak, with his confidence bolstered by the presence of both of his creators, looked around the room curiously. He was confused. Why couldn't he share his spark with the others?

"Daddy? Would you like to meet your grandson?" Nightshade asked. Crosswise nodded, too choked up to speak. He slowly walked to Nightshade. He peered down at Streak. Streak giggled when Crosswise used one finger to tenderly touch Streak's hand. The little mech wrapped his hands around Crosswise's finger tightly, babbling to himself as he examined his grandfather's hand. Crosswise made an odd noise, almost like a hiccup.

"He's beautiful, Nightshade," Crosswise said gruffly, "he's going to take after you, Ratchet. That, I can tell you." Ratchet blinked.

"I seriously hope not," Ratchet said honestly, "the last thing we need is miniature me."

Nightshade giggled. Before Streak had been born, Ratchet had lain on the berth beside her abdomen and given the spark she carried a stern talking-to. Streak was _not _to inherit his obsessive behavior, his aim, or his (in)famous charm. The only thing Streak could inherit from him was his love for medicine and science, and that was it. He _had _to inherit Nightshade's relatively sweet disposition.

Day Lily giggled quietly.

"Ratchet, if it wasn't for the fact that you have red paint and a black chevron, I would swear that you were your father," Day Lily said softly, "you're his mirror in every way. Streak will one day be the mech that you are today, Ratchet."

Ratchet looked a little uncomfortable thinking that his sparkling was going to be a fully grown mech one day.

"No, I refuse to believe it - not my little Streak, he'll be a good, sweet, innocent little sparkling for the rest of his life. Won't you, Streak?" Ratchet asked, wrapping his arm around Nightshade and peering down at Streak. The little one twittered happily, kicking his feet up into the air. Streak loved the attention from his creators! It made his spark so warm and happy.

"See? He's promised," Ratchet said. Crosswise only laughed.

"He'll have a tutor before you know it," Crosswise said quietly, glancing over at Nightshade meaningfully. It seemed like only yesterday that the femme had been sparked. Nightshade smiled back up at him, knowing the reason behind his sudden silence. Now that she thought about it, her life had changed in the blink of an optic.

"Alright. Ironhide, Prime. C'mere," Ratchet said, "but slowly!" Prime stepped forward while Ironhide hung out of the way. Ironhide did not like small noisy things. Optimus was genuinely curious about the sparkling. He had only seen a dozen or so in his lifetime. Streak's optics went wide as he gazed up at the mountain towering over him. He trilled shrilly. This mech was gigantic! Optimus stared down at Streak. By Primus, the sparkling was tiny!

They stared at one another for a few long astroseconds, gauging one another.

Optimus reached one finger out at Elita's gentle urging. When Streak reached for him, Optimus jerked back so quickly that he elbowed Ironhide. Ironhide grunted, but did not retaliate. Streak chirped, a little less than amused at the Giant's unfulfilled promise of attention. At Nightshade's soft prompt, Optimus reached out again. He prodded Streak in the leg and pulled away quickly. Streak stared up at Optimus blankly for a moment before glancing over at Ironhide. He squeaked, calling for attention. This mech looked interesting.

"Ironhide? Streak wants to see you," Nightshade said quietly. Ironhide shook his head.

"I'm fine where I'm at," Ironhide rumbled out quietly. Streak chirped again, reaching his hands up to Ironhide. This mech reminded him of his poppa. He radiated the same sense of safety. He had the same deep, comforting voice, even if he was a bit growly.

"I think he wants Ironhide to hold him," Elita said excitedly. Ironhide choked as Prime pushed him forward. He dug his heels into the ground, struggling to get away.

"N-no I don't think this is a good idea - "

"Do it or he'll start crying," Ratchet warned quietly, "and if he starts crying..."

"Hold your hand out, Ironhide," Nightshade said. Prime twisted Ironhide's arm, forcing him to hold his hand out. Nightshade moved quickly, placing Streak's bottom into the palm of Ironhide's massive hand. Once Streak was settled into his trembling hand, Ironhide went as still as a statue. Nightshade continued.

"Very well, now wrap your other hand around his back and shoulders. Just like that, help him balance - no, not quite that far up. Good, now hold him against your chest - mind the pointy bits, Streak doesn't like that." Nightshade adjusted the tiny sparkling marginally.

"There we go," Nightshade said. As she stepped back, she realized that it was the first time she had ever seen a look of true fear on Ironhide's face. He looked positively terrified to have Streak curled up against him.

"He likes you, Ironhide," Ratchet said softly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Ironhide remained stock still, his optics wide. After a few moments of having the tiny blot of warmth curled up against him, Ironhide began to relax. He spoke gently.

"He is adorable, even if he's only a little scrap of metal," Ironhide said fondly, glancing down the now-drooling sparkling. After a moment, Streak pushed against Ironhide's chest. He squeaked. He wanted to be held by someone else now. This mech was nice, but he was smelled funny. Nightshade reached for Streak.

"It's time for you to meet everyone else," Nightshade cooed, "you're such a brave little sparkling, I'd be terrified if Ironhide picked me up like he did you. I'm afraid that you've inherited the wrong traits, Streak. I'm afraid of heights, and you're not."

Ironhide glared down at her, but it softened when he saw that Streak was making faces up at his mother. Jazz and Prowl were next, but Prowl didn't like it when Streak spat up a glob of unprocessed energon onto his hand. He stayed away while Jazz stepped forward.

"Hey there, little man," Jazz said, offering the tip of one finger to the sparkling, "nice ta finally meet you." Streak grabbed Jazz's finger and squeaked. He continued making noises, much to the amusement of the adults around him.

"Are you behaving for your mother?" Jazz asked, a small smile creeping across his face. Streak whirred in response. For a moment, Nightshade could have sworn that Streak sounded apologetic.

"A real mech always cherishes and protects the femmes in his life, especially the one who gave him life. When you get older, you'll understand," Jazz said wisely. Streak responded with a quiet chattering noise.

Ratchet smiled down at them both. He would raise Streak to be a proper gentlemech. His beliefs may have been considered archaic and even chauvinistic, but Ratchet wouldn't hesitate to put himself in harm's way to protect a femme, even if she was as tough as Chromia.

"So we're both on the same page now, yes?" Jazz asked, nodding his head slightly. Streak mirrored Jazz's nod. The little mech had no idea what was going on, but to the others, it looked like they had carried on a conversation.

"You would be a wonderful father," Nightshade said softly. Jazz gave her a charming smile.

"Thank you, Nightshade," he said, bowing his head. He gave Streak one last look.

"Behave, little man, and do what your mother says!" he said. He took Prowl's hand and they sat down with the others. Red Alert peered over Nightshade's arm. Streak blinked up at the mech. He had the same funny covering over his optics, just like Jazz. Streak clapped his hands when Red Alert retracted it. Streak watched attentively. He wanted for the mech to do the funny thing with his optics again.

"This is Red Alert," Nightshade said quietly, her vocal processor choking up slightly, "if it was not for him, neither one of us would be here." Ratchet squeezed her shoulder gently. Red Alert only looked somber.

"Would you like to hold him, Red?" Ratchet asked softly.

"You don't mind?" Red asked. Nightshade shook her head. Red Alert carefully picked Streak up, expertly nestling him in the crook of his arm. If they didn't know that his tertiary function was temporary medic, they would have sworn that Red Alert had had dozens of his own sparklings. He handled the tiny sparkling expertly, not once letting his unease or discomfort show.

Streak whimpered quietly, not understanding why he was being held by someone he did not know. He began to wriggle and reach for Nightshade. His mother didn't reach back for him. He began to panic, thinking that he was being taken from Nightshade again, but once his creators gave him that same reassuring sensation, he began to calm back down. Curiosity replaced the fear in his little spark.

"There, there, Streak," Red Alert murmured quietly, "it's alright. I won't hurt you. No one on this base would harm you, little one." Streak quieted down and stared up at Red Alert, enraptured with his smooth, deep voice.

"You see? Everyone here will take good care of you," Red continued quietly. Streak yawned quietly, shuttering his optics as he buried his face into Red Alert's chest plates. Within minutes, the little one was asleep. With a radiant smile, Red Alert offered Streak back to Nightshade.

"Here we go," Red Alert said quietly, "he probably needs a good recharge because of all the activity." Nightshade nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her mood swings had only intensified since Streak's birth, and the sight of Red Alert cradling the tiny bundle to his chest made her want to start crying. She hurried away. Once she was in the privacy of her nursery, she carefully righted Streak and gently put him into her carrying chamber. The little mech didn't budge as she shut her chest plates. She checked his vitals as she walked back out of the door. He was deep in recharge, and didn't require much fuel. Nightshade carefully stroked the top of Streak's head, giving him one last fond smile as she exited the room.

She and Ratchet finally sat down with their guests, and for the first time in a very long time, Nightshade allowed herself to relax. She leaned against Ratchet. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. Nightshade placed a small kiss on his chest before shuttering her optics. If someone had told her one hundred vorns ago that her life would have changed the way it had, she wouldn't have believed them. She had fallen in love, had bonded, and had, had a sparkling of her own, all in the relatively infinitesimal time frame of sixteen stellar cycles. Nightshade shuttered her optics, leaning into Ratchet's warm embrace. She felt his arm tighten around her marginally as he leaned back into the couch.

Their lives may have settled into a comfortable but slightly predictable rhythm, but Nightshade knew it was only the beginning.

* * *

Wow! WID is finally over. I have no idea what to say now!

I suppose I'll start off with a thank you, then. I want to thank the following people for simply being here, and for being the main reason why I even continued this story:

**Litahatchee** (for being the most wonderful person to bounce ideas with, and for being so generous as to let me borrow her idea of "carrying", and also, for being the definition of awesome ),

**Okami-Chan** (for also being generous – the idea of dancers and dolls belong entirely to her, and for granting me permission to draw a dancer the way she wrote about…though I haven't gotten around to it yet!),

**P.A.W.07** (for being generous as well, and for letting me borrow her concept of femme-in-hiding),

**Vermilionbird** (just for being Vermilionbird, and for reading my…endeavors into the field of fictional romance ;) Your feedback is simply amazing!),

**Plenoptic** ( for being such a wonderful, wonderful reader and for making me laugh with every email and review. Without you, I'd definitely be a more boring person!),

**MelanieDraidnt24** (over on DeviantArt. Girl, I've spent more time on AIM with you than anyone else, and I can't begin to thank you for being my friend!),

And finally,

**Xanaplayer** (for offering many words of encouragement and for being an awesome friend as well).

Thank you to everyone else!

See y'all in the sequel. :)


	52. Extra Tidbits

Transformers is (c) to Hasbro.  
Day Lily, Crosswise, Nightshade, and Light Streak are (c) to me.  
No taking without asking.

Dancers belong to **Okami-Chan** from "Rhythm and Hues".  
I borrowed the idea of femme-in-hiding from **P.A.W.07'**s "Promise Not to Tell".  
Carrying belongs to **Litahatchee** from "Night Fire".  
Subadults belong to **LittleMewLugia** from various fics. ^o^

Constructive criticism is always welcome. Especially if it involves grammar.

This is just a one-shot so that everyone who has put this story on Alert gets something new to read (yay for awesome readers, by the way) and so that y'all aren't confused if/when you do read the sequel. This has been written for a while, but I never posted it here because I forgot to.

This version has been edited and altered from the DeviantArt version. If you're already read this, feel free to disregard this update. ^^ There isn't anything that has been changed super drastically except for the implied time frame. In the original version, it implied that this occurred way after the trial, when in reality it was supposed to happen only a few months afterward.

Thank you all for being such awesome readers. Enjoy the tidbits. :D

* * *

"Ratchet? I think we need to talk," Day Lily said, placing her hand on Ratchet's shoulder. The mech was taut, almost at his wit's end.

"Please leave, Day Lily. I have no desire to be harped on by you, Moon Racer, and just about everyone else," Ratchet said. Day Lily ignored the tightly reigned anger.

"No, I will not leave. You and I need to discuss a few things. Either you can come with me quietly, or I will let _everyone_ in this room know how you have been treating my daughter," Day Lily said lowly. Ratchet glared at her, but rose when she began to move away. He followed her out of the officer's lounge area as he tried to ignore the curious stares. Once within the privacy of one of the empty offices, Day Lily sat down. Ratchet followed suit.

"Now," Day Lily began pleasantly, "why did my daughter come to me at four in the morning, sobbing?" Ratchet narrowed his optics. Day Lily returned the gesture, her acid green optics glinting dangerously in the halogen lights.

"It's none of your Primus-damned business, Day Lily," Ratchet snapped back, "I would appreciate it if you minded your own business for once."

"It _becomes_ my business when _my_ only daughter is involved," Day Lily shot at him, "even though she may belong to you through your bond, my maternal rights will always supersede yours. Compute?" Ratchet did not respond, for he knew that he could not argue with Day Lily. Nightshade may have belonged to him, and he may have belonged to her, and each half of their spark may have been equal in magnitude, but their bond could never replace the link between mother and daughter.

"Now please explain your side of the story to me," Day Lily said. She was pleasant and serene once more.

"I said things I shouldn't have said," Ratchet grumbled quietly, "and everything I said was in – well, at least I _thought_ - was in full privacy with Ironhide." Ratchet was still upset that Nightshade had listened in on his conversation with Ironhide.

"Very well. What exactly did you say?" Day Lily asked. Ratchet heaved a sigh from his exhaust and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I only spoke the truth. Ever since Streak's birth, she has been unnecessarily clingy. She's been pestering me to adopt the girls and one of the younglings," Ratchet said. His frown grew deeper, "I asked her to wait until Streak was well settled in before we even discussed adding to our family, but she refused to listen. She's acting like a rotten sparkling, and it's really starting to irritate me."

"Have you tried asking her why she's being clingy, Ratchet? I acted the same exact way after I had Nightshade," Day Lily said, shrugging her shoulders delicately, "she's only seeking your presence for you to help nurture Streak."

"Be that as it may, Day Lily, but I cannot tolerate her presence twenty four hours a day! I love her dearly, don't get me wrong, but it's damn near impossible to work _and_ live with your bonded. You _know_ I need my space, but when I ask her for space, she immediately assumes that I am upset with her."

"I'll ask you again. Have you tried talking to her?"

"She _won't_ listen, Day Lily!"

"She's used to getting her way, Ratchet," Day Lily said, "and you – "

"I will not cater to her every whim, Day Lily," Ratchet said, interrupting the femme, "she needs to learn that things aren't always going to go her way."

"Which was what I was going to say," Day Lily said darkly, "Nightshade has been given anything her spark desires by Crosswise since the day she was old enough to start making demands. Even now that she's your mate and responsibility, Crosswise _still_ buys her dance materials. He _still_ treats her like she was a little sparkling. You're going to have to be patient with her, Ratchet, at least until she realizes that the world does not revolve around her."

Ratchet rubbed his face plates wearily, letting the soft polymer coating his fingers soothe away the aches of his tense cables.

"What else did you say?" Day Lily asked softly.

"I said that she was irritating the slag out of me," Ratchet said bluntly, "and that I needed my space. Ironhide asked about Streak, and I said that I needed to get away from him, too, if only for a few hours. There's only so much screaming from a sparkling that I can handle at once, and six hours of Streak doing whatever the slag he pleases because Nightshade won't tell him no grates on my last neural."

"No wonder she was upset."

"So you're going to leap to her defense immediately? I should have known better than to confide in you," Ratchet spat out, his irritation returning full-force.

"I wasn't trying to defend her, nor was I trying to defend you," Day Lily said, scolding him like a naughty youngling. He gave her an intense glare, but he didn't continue.

"Ratchet, she may _know_ that mechs and femmes are programmed differently, but she doesn't _understand_ how. You need to reassure her that you do love Streak."

"Did she say that I didn't?" Ratchet asked immediately.

"No, she didn't accuse you of that," Day Lily said mildly, "I know how much you love Streak. It's rare that a sparkling goes to its mech creator for love and comfort at such an early age. Haven't you noticed how much he wants to be with you? Not many mechs are able to connect with their sparkling so soon in life, Ratchet. You're doing a wonderful, wonderful job with him. I wish that the other mechs here on base were as sensitive to their sparkling's needs as you are."

Ratchet nodded, still a little uncomfortable.

"She only wants you to be able to experience the bond that she and Streak share. I'll explain to her that it won't happen overnight. It will take several vorns before your bond with Streak is strong enough to be like hers. But you _must_ be patient, Ratchet."

"I'm trying," he said, sounding defeated, "I'm trying as hard as I possibly can. There are things about her that make me want to lock her into a closet and leave her there." Day Lily frowned at him, opening her mouth to chastise him.

"I would never do that, Day Lily, but I have contemplated it. You can't sit there and honestly tell me that Crosswise doesn't have any 'quirks' that wouldn't make you consider the same," Ratchet interrupted. Day Lily nodded.

"I will admit that I have contemplated dismembering him," Day Lily said politely, "but why would you even consider that, Ratchet? Nightshade is a good femme –"

"She is a _wonderful_ femme, Day Lily. I can count a dozen things about her that irritate me. She takes up the entire berth. She is obsessive compulsive about her dancing materials. She pouts. She whines. She's always with Streak. She never pays me any attention – we haven't spark bonded in six orns, Day Lily. I'm about to go mad. She always insists on full-grade energon. She won't touch mid-grade or low-grade energon, even she knows the only difference is mineral content. She wants a dozen more sparklings. She – "

"I think I get it," Day Lily said dryly, "and all short-comings aside, she's still your femme."

"I know, Day Lily. I know."

"And what else did you say?" Day Lily asked.

"She pesters me all the time. Asking me what something is for. What something does. Where something goes," Ratchet groused, sliding down slightly in his seat. Day Lily laughed quietly. He gave her an insulted look.

"Ratchet, she's the most curious femme I have ever met. Would you prefer that she go to someone else to satisfy her curiosity?"

"No. I suppose not," Ratchet grumbled quietly, "but I do get a little irritated when she asks me to look something up on the Internet for her. She has wi-fi, satellite hacking capabilities, and an entire fragging library, but she still wants me to do it for her."

"Because she wants you to know that you'll always be the one she goes to when she needs something," Day Lily said softly, "she expresses herself differently, Ratchet. I've known her for her entire life, and I barely know how she functions. It may be because of her seclusion at the dance academy. I don't know. I know I've already told you this, Ratchet, but you must be patient with her."

Ratchet nodded wearily.

"I know," he said softly, "it's just that she acts so immaturely at times."

"She was only eleven vorns out of her sub-adult stages when you proposed bonding," Day Lily said quietly, "she was still an innocent, and you knew that."

"Should I have waited?" Ratchet asked.

"Yes, and no. I say yes because she is my daughter. Nightshade never had a steady relationship with a mech before you. All of her previous suitors lasted a vorn or two at a time. You and Nightshade knew one another for only a few stellar cycles before you bonded, Ratchet. Ten years is an infinitesimal amount of time compared to something that will last for an eternity."

She paused for a moment.

"I say no because of what I know now. If you had waited to bond with her, perhaps Starscream would have taken her from you. Perhaps Streak wouldn't have been created. Perhaps she would have been killed. I do not know, Ratchet, but I would not have it any other way."

Ratchet nodded, shuttering his optics. He had leapt into his relationship with Nightshade without a moment of hesitation or thought. They had decided to bond only because of a spur-of-the-moment decision, and now he was starting to see why Ironhide had warned him to not think with his spark.

"She was still very new to her role as your mate when she conceived, Ratchet. She's still learning how to be a proper mother. She needs your guidance."

"I've tried to help her with Streak, Day Lily, but she snaps at me and tells me to get out of her way," Ratchet said, "don't you think it hurts me when she takes Streak away from me? When she says I'm not interacting with him correctly?"

Day Lily placed her hand over his.

"Rearing a sparkling is very difficult, Ratchet. Tell her that she needs to explain these things to you because you can't read her computing center. I did it to Crosswise, too, and I didn't know how badly it hurt him. Perhaps I should talk to her. I never had the chance to teach her what was expected of her as a mate and mother."

"Please do."

Day Lily nodded.

"Is there anything else you would like to discuss, Ratchet?"

"She keeps asking for another sparkling, Day Lily – "

"And that would only deteriorate your relationship further, Ratchet. A second child would not be the wisest decision. How does she not understand?"

"I know, Day Lily, but she doesn't seem to _want_ to understand why," Ratchet said quietly, sounding defeated.

"A femme will always bear the curse of needing to pass on her spark," Day Lily said quietly, "and she'll feel it even more so because her conception rate is at the highest it will ever be in her lifetime. The probability of her conceiving is probably one or even two percent."

He nodded.

"Do you think you will ever be ready for another one?" Day Lily asked softly.

"I might be, but not for a long while."

He stared down at his hands for a few moments.

"She wants for the both of you to have what Crosswise and I share. It's going to be difficult work, but at least the two of you knew one another before being bonded," Day Lily said, giving Ratchet a small smile.

"You mean you didn't know him?"

"Primus, no. My family found out we were sparkmates and they set our bonding ceremony for the very next vorn. I didn't even know his name. At least then I knew I would never need anyone else in my life. Crosswise and I have been bonded longer than you have been alive, Ratchet. It's going to be a very long time before you and Nightshade share something of the same magnitude."

Ratchet nodded.

"No one ever said that being bonded was easy," Day Lily sighed quietly, "there were days where I was prepared to shoot him to put us both out of our misery. I'm certain he had his days where he would have willingly strangled me." A ghost of a smile crept across her face.

"But I eventually came to love him, Ratchet. Our bond only amplified it, and after that, things fell into place. You and Nightshade will be fine if you talk about your relationship. You must always remember to cherish what you have. Not everyone has a mate and sparkling to come home to at the end of every shift," Day Lily reminded quietly. Ratchet gave a slight smile. He nodded.

"Please, Ratchet, _please_ have the patience to guide her through this," Day Lily said, gripping his hand tightly, "I know she's difficult at times." At Ratchet's snort, she elaborated. "Very well, I know she's a difficult femme, but she loves you more than you will ever know." Ratchet smiled again.

"I love her, too," he said.

"Don't tell me that, Ratchet. She's the one you need to be saying that to."

"Thank you, Day Lily."

"You're very welcome, Ratchet. You know you will always have a free audio receptor should you ask."

He smiled one last time, and after a few minutes of companionable silence, they parted ways.

* * *

Short, but enticing, no?


End file.
